The Make of a Captain
by Tavia
Summary: In a universe where the Enterprise never fights Klingons and Kirk leads a gang of pirates, what will happen when Kirk comes together with the people we know as his closest friends? Update 7-10-04! -COMPLETE-
1. Prologue and Chapter One

Disclaimer: Star Trek is Paramount's.  Plot and concept belong to me.

A/N: This is something a bit different.  Actually, a _lot_ different.  Something I dreamed up (literally; I woke up thinking about it, anyway).  What if the captain of the _Enterprise_ wasn't Kirk?  Who is affected, and how?  What does it do to Spock, McCoy, Scotty, the crew in general?  Read on and find out.  This isn't particularly a comedy, which makes it different right from the beginning, but I hope you'll find it interesting.

The prologue is lifted word for word from Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens, and all credit goes to them.  The prologue relates to the title, and it will all be apparent and (hopefully) meaningful eventually.  I'd have written something myself, but they've already written it better than I ever could.  All else will be original.

THE MAKE OF A CAPTAIN

PROLOGUE

_Excerpt from Prime Directive by Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens_

The Federation…was founded on a dream—a dream of greater goals and greater good, of common purpose and cooperation, but beyond all else it was a dream to know more, a dream to explore to the farthest limits and then go beyond.

They called it _le rêve d'étoiles_—the dream of stars.

But dreams alone were not enough to sustain the Federation's goals, and fortunately the planners also understood what else was needed and how to obtain it.  They understood that throughout the worlds of the Federation there were beings in whom the dream burned brightest.  Invariably, all of these individuals had known instantly where their destinies lay from the moment they first looked up to the lights of the night sky.  In every language in all the worlds, the words were always the same: the dream of stars.  Not traveling to them, not stopping at them, but moving among them, ever outward, always farther, no end to space or to their quest.  Or to the dream.

At Starfleet Academy the founders were careful to set in place the challenges and systems that would guide the best of those called by the dream to the only position that they could hold, the position to which each was born.

Starship captain.

CHAPTER ONE

Robert Lowell, captain of the starship _Enterprise_, sat in his command chair at the center of the bridge, and signed papers.  This wasn't any great surprise to anyone.  Lowell made a point of seeing to it that the _Enterprise_ ran efficiently, and that meant all reports in strictly on time.  He didn't really mind the paperwork anyway, and he liked thinking, which may lead one to wonder why he ever became a starship Captain.  But he had, and so this particular day he was sitting in his command chair dealing with paperwork.  And people thought the lives of Starship captains' were all glory.  He enjoyed a silent chuckle at that, and moved on to the next document.

On the upper ramp behind him, the ship's first officer and science officer was deeply immersed in his own work, which at the moment consisted primarily of looking over recent surveys of a nearby nebula.  A few most fascinating aspects to it.  He leaned over his monitor, the blue light highlighting the angles of his face.  And it was an angular face, from slanted eyebrows to pointed ears.  But those particular features were only natural.  Mr. Spock was a Vulcan, the only one on the _Enterprise_, one of the few anywhere in Starfleet.  He found that exploration vessels, while reportedly war-like, were an excellent place to encounter new scientific phenomena.

The bridge was very quiet.  The navigator and helmsman had found a way to send messages between their respective consoles, and were fully engaged in this practice.  The bridge was _very_ quiet.  The general air was relaxed, just a bit dull.  An atmosphere duplicated across the ship.  This was not the attitude of a crew who expected to be in battle any time in the near future.  But that wasn't very strange.  They didn't expect to be in battle any time in the near future.  They were between missions, in fact, and their last mission had been ferrying diplomats anyway.  The _Enterprise_ was known for being a good posting, if a quiet one.

The navigator, Pavel Chekov, a Russian who was proud of that fact, sent a message to the helmsman asking him when he thought they'd hear from Starfleet about their next mission.

Hikaru Sulu, the slim Oriental helmsman, believed they'd hear any time now.

Chekov wondered what it would be this time.

Sulu offered to bet him five credits that they'd be sent after the raiders who'd been making a mess near the Palladium system.

Chekov was saved five credits when they were distracted by the communications officer, who had just received that awaited message from Starfleet. 

"Captain, transmission from Starfleet Command," Uhura announced.

Lowell set aside the page he was signing, and straightened out of the relaxed position he'd slipped into.  "Put it on the main scree…no, I think I'll take it in my quarters, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain."

Lowell stood up, and exited.  The hum, or lack there of, of activity on the bridge continued without change.

*  *  *

Lowell entered the captain's quarters, and sat at his completely clear desk.  The entire room was organized and neat.  He didn't appreciate sloppiness.  He signaled the bridge, and had the call transferred to his personal station.  The blue Federation emblem faded, to be replaced by the face of Admiral Nogura, direct from Starfleet Command, Earth.

The admiral nodded a greeting.  "Captain Lowell.  How are you?"

"Fine, thank you, Admiral.  And how are things at Command?" Lowell asked politely.

"Always busy," Nogura said with a laugh.  "Always some trouble happening somewhere."

"That's the nature of the galaxy, isn't it?" Lowell commented.  "We're always happy to help if we can…"  He occasionally said something like that out of a sense of duty, privately crossing his fingers that he wouldn't be taken up on the vague offer to go off and fight the wars.  He never had been yet.  He hadn't so much as smelled a Klingon since he became a Captain, and didn't particularly want to break the streak.

It wasn't going to be broken today.  Nogura shook his head.  "We've got enough ships around the borders.  Starships may be designed for exploration, but keeping one inside the Federation seems to work well enough.  Speaking of which, excellent job on that last mission."

"We do what we can," Lowell said, pleased.

"Well, I expect the ambassador from Babel to be talking about your hospitality for months to come.  He was especially delighted with that blend of coffee your chef makes."

"I'll pass the compliment on."

"Naturally, I didn't call for that reason alone, or just to chat.  We've reached a decision regarding your next assignment."  Nogura grew more serious, getting to the heart of the matter.  "We're having a problem in the Palladium system."

"What sort of problem?" Lowell asked gravely.

"Raiders.  You know the type.  Common lowlifes of the galaxy."  Nogura's expression gave way to a deep frown directed at no one present.  "Pirates, of a sort, in spaceships instead of sailing ships.  And just like the old pirates, they prey on merchant ships.  Come out of nowhere, attack, steal the cargo, and leave the crew to limp back to Starbase.  We wouldn't normally send a starship to deal with this sort of trouble, but you're the closest ship.  And it seems prudent, as this batch looks to be particularly nasty."

"Slavers?" Lowell asked.

"No, thankfully.  And they haven't been killing crews either.  Nasty might not be the best word.  Successful might be better.  Pirates crop up occasionally, you know; crooks with delusions of grandeur.  Usually they're disorganized enough, with enough infighting, to make our job relatively easy.  But this group…they're good, Captain, they're very good.  They're so good, we've actually bothered to hide it from the press.  They call themselves the Sharks, and they've been after ships that raiders don't normally risk taking on.  So that's your next assignment.  Capture those raiders."


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Star Trek is (gasp and surprise) not mine.  I suppose Lowell is though.

CHAPTER TWO

Following the announcement of their newest mission, life aboard the _Enterprise_ went on as usual.  Things rarely disrupted the normal pattern of life on the _Enterprise_.  Matters tended to proceed with almost boring regularity.  As matters did today.  The _Enterprise_ aimed herself towards Palladium, and everyone aboard her continued his or her normal day until afternoon, as it was wont to do, passed into evening.

As was his custom, Mr. Spock entered the Mess Hall at precisely 6:20 in the evening, PADD tucked under his arm.  The room was crowded this evening.  He estimated a 24% rise in people since the previous night.  Odd how humans never did seem to create a precise schedule for themselves and stick to it.  Spock noted the item down as another example of human illogic.  Perhaps someday he would write a paper on the matter.  No doubt it would be well received on Vulcan, less so on Earth.  Spock set the idea aside as something to consider at a later date, and crossed the room to the replicators, navigating around the ever-present and ever loud crowd of humans.

Spock ordered a bowl of soup.  Contrary to popular legend around the ship, he did eat non-Vulcan food.  Plomeek soup is not an easy item to obtain on a primarily human ship, but he had found potato soup, with extra leeks, a palatable substitute.  He added to that a green salad, no dressing, and picked up his tray.  He scanned the room, and finally located an empty table in a back corner.  He maneuvered once more through the bustling humans, set down his tray and his PADD, and sat down to eat his supper, while reading a paper on the latest advancements in microscopic techniques to view subcellular structure.

*  *  *

At approximately 6:27, though he probably couldn't have told you the time if you asked him, a very different individual entered the Mess Hall, for the simple reason that he felt hungry.  Ten minutes ago Dr. Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_, had realized in the middle of an experiment involving meitnerium and seaborgium that lunch had been at eleven and it was high time he ate again.  Promising his nurse, who didn't believe him, that he'd be back in half-an-hour to clean up, he left Sickbay in search of food.

The Mess Hall was crowded.  McCoy noticed the fact in passing, and the only conclusion he drew was that sooner or later someone was bound to bump into someone else, and then it really would be a mess hall.  He eventually made it through the crowd and to the replicators, where he ordered a steak.  Tray in one hand, he set about to the serious business of deciding where to eat.  Spotting the chief engineer, Mr. Scott, at a back table, he headed that way.  His route took him past Spock's table, which remained empty except for the Vulcan.  If there was one person on the ship that McCoy didn't understand, it would have to be Spock.  There the man was, in the middle of a crowded room, sitting at an empty table and reading something off of a PADD.  And McCoy doubted it was the latest adventure novel.  He rolled his eyes, something he did often around Spock, and continued on his way.

*  *  *

At roughly 6:38, though he definitely didn't know the exact time, Lowell paused in his reading of _War and Peace_ long enough to notice that it was evening, and therefore time to eat dinner.  Onboard a starship, there aren't many options for eating places.  So dropping the book on his desk, Lowell set off to the Mess Hall.

He ordered a ham sandwich at the replicators, failing to notice that this was the third night in a row he'd eaten a ham sandwich.  He did notice that Spock was sitting alone at a back table, a pool of silence in marked contrast to the noisy room.  Lowell had always felt a bit distant from his first officer.  Very distant in fact.  And he'd never quite been sure what he could do about it.  Eating dinner with him couldn't hurt though.

Lowell headed towards Spock's table.  On his way to the quietest table in the place, he also passed the loudest one.  Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy reigned at the head of a long and boisterous table.  They were deeply engrossed in a conversation which, judging by the expressions of the faces of the others at their table, only they fully understood.  Lowell passed close enough the catch a piece of the exchange.

"One part to two parts, and, Scotty, you wouldn't believe the results!" McCoy was saying.

Scott looked doubtful.  "Can ye verify these results consistently though, Doc?"

Sounded like a chemical experiment, Lowell supposed.

McCoy went on.  "Now, you know I don't like Scotch—"

Scott nodded gravely.  "Aye, one of yer few failings."

"—but just this simple mix, and it's like a whole new drink!"

"The question being why ye'd _want_ to."

Or maybe it wasn't quite chemical in nature, Lowell amended.

Lowell walked on towards Spock's table, and set down his tray.  "'Evening, Mr. Spock.  Mind if I join you?"

Spock glanced up from the PADD he was reading, and nodded to Lowell.  "Captain," he said by way of greeting.

Lowell decided to assume that Spock had no objections, although the number of emotions flitting across the Vulcan's face—that is to say, none—wasn't much help.  It really was a strange thing to serve with a man three years, and never once see him smile, Lowell mused as he sat down.  "So, Spock, how've you been lately?"

Spock looked up from his lettuce.  Lowell stifled a groan.  He had that blasted eyebrow raised.  A substantial portion of the crew was willing to swear that that eyebrow was the only part of Spock's face that moved, as far as expressions went.

"How have I…_been_, Captain?"

"I mean, how are you?  Any complaints?"

"If I had any complaints, I would have filed them, as per standard procedure," Spock said mildly.  "I have not."

"Oh.  Glad to hear it."

A lull in the conversation.  A long one.  Lowell was kicking himself for sitting here to begin with when Spock spoke.

"And…how have you…'been,' Captain?" Spock asked slowly.

Lowell blinked.  Was he actually making a stab towards conversation?  Incredible!  "No complaints to speak of.  Well, seems like Starfleet comes up with more paperwork every year, but aside from that I'm good."

"Paperwork is necessary to the efficient running of this ship," Spock acknowledged without any great enthusiasm.

"Sure," Lowell agreed, casting about for another topic.  "So what do you think of our new mission?"

"It should be challenging for certain sections of the crew.  As I am primarily a scientist I do not expect to be personally involved."

"Well, you may be right there."

"Indeed."  Spock glanced at the timepiece on the wall.  "It is 6:45.  I should return to the bridge to check the results of a hypothetical experiment I was running on the computer."  He stood up, and picked up his tray.  "If you will excuse me, Captain."

Lowell nodded, a little thrown off by this abrupt-seeming exit.  "Oh, yeah, sure."

Spock nodded, and walked away, tray in one hand, PADD in the other.  Lowell watched him go, privately concluding, not for the first time, that it simply was not possible to make friends with a Vulcan.  Not this one anyway.

Lowell finally shrugged, and picked up his sandwich, intent on returning to his quarters.  They had just been about to declare war again in _War and Peace_.

*  *  *

Lowell and Spock weren't the only ones in the Mess Hall discussing their latest mission.  Sulu and Chekov were having a far more successful conversation though.

"So, what do you give it?" Sulu asked.

Chekov frowned.  "A four," he said dourly.

"A _four_?  I'd give it an eight at least!" Sulu protested.  "We're chasing down pirates!"

"It is just not very exciting."

"Pirates, Pavel.  We're chasing the scum of the galaxy."

"But they are _human_ scum.  Ve are Starfleet.  Ve should be chasing Klingon scum, or Romulan scum."

"Oh," Sulu said knowingly.  "_This_ again."  He went on, with all the wisdom of two and a half years of Starfleet experience, as opposed to Chekov's six months.  "I keep telling you, a lot of Starfleet doesn't spend time fighting Klingons.  In the whole time I've been on the _Enterprise_, we've never fought Klingons."

"Doesn't that _bother_ you?" Chekov demanded, just as though they hadn't already had this conversation several times.

Sulu shrugged.  "It used to.  But like I keep saying, it's still a perfectly good job.  We do good work, the people are nice, shore leaves are frequent, and you can't beat the paycheck."

"I suppose so," Chekov agreed glumly.  "Seems like there should be something else though.  I just don't know _vhat_."

If this was a trifle slow, I'm still trying to get across what this universe is like, in contrast to the one we know.  The excitement (and plot) starts next chapter.  In the meantime, review!  Constructive criticism welcome, suggestions will be met with interest, praise with great interest, and flames with no constructive purpose will get you blocked. : )


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine.  I'm so sick of typing that.

The previously promised chapter in which things become more exciting.

CHAPTER THREE

Somewhere in the Palladium system.  Aboard a small ship hidden within the wispy edges of a gas giant.  The man at the center of the bridge studied the ship on their long-distance sensors with great interest.

"So the starship _Enterprise_ has come wandering into our little neighborhood.  How very interesting."  He waved a careless hand at the viewscreen.  "Impressive, isn't she?"

"The most.  Engines can reach warp eight in a pinch, photon torpedoes, phasers, heavy shielding…"

"Very interesting," the first man repeated thoughtfully.  Within moments he reached a decision.  "Take her out, warp two.  We're going to engage the _Enterprise_."

On the face of it, the very idea was absurd.  Their relatively tiny ship, take on a starship?  But past experience had shown, their leader always knew what he was doing, and his luck was remarkable.  And so, while questioning glances flew, no questions were raised, and they merely bent to their respective tasks.

*  *  *

"Captain, ship approaching starboard, warp two," Sulu announced.  "Closing in one minute.  Shall I raise shields?"

Lowell didn't answer.  He was studying the viewscreen, and thinking.

Sulu glanced back.  "Captain?"

"Regulations, I seem to recall, require that we raise shields when closing with another ship, until peaceful intent has been assured," Lowell said thoughtfully.  "But we are here to help the people of this sector, and we don't want to appear overly militant.  Does anyone remember if the regulation specifies ship size?"

"Closing in fifteen seconds, sir," Sulu interjected.

"That particular regulation, General Order 12, paragraph six, line two, has no size-specification, but applies for all ships," Spock said from the upper ramp.

"Hmm.  Well then, shields—"

"Keptin!  They're firing phasers!"  By the time Chekov got to 'firing' everyone knew anyway.

They could feel it.  Spock stayed in his chair.  He always did.  Lowell went half out of his.  Sulu and Chekov knocked against their consoles, but at least stayed in place.

"We seem to have found the Sharks," Spock murmured.

"Shields up!" Lowell snapped.

"Shields up," Sulu confirmed with certain undisguised relief.

They'd only received eight seconds or so of direct fire raking their starboard side, but that was more than enough.  Weapons-fire without shields is not a pleasant thing.

"The pirates?" Lowell asked.

"They flew by and kept going," Sulu reported.  "Warp two, Mark 3.469.  Shall we pursue, sir?"

"Yes…yes, of course.  Warp, um, warp three."

"Warp three, aye."

"Damage report?" Lowell requested.

"Severe damage to decks 6, 7, and 8, minor damage to decks 5 and 9.  No casualty reports yet, do you want me to call Sickbay?" Uhura asked.

"No, they're probably harried right now.  They'll call us when they get a chance," Lowell said immediately.  He didn't call Sickbay very often.  Frankly, Dr. McCoy unnerved him a bit, though he wouldn't admit it for the galaxy.  The man had a disconcerting lack of regard for command authority.  He was a good doctor though.  "The Sharks?"

"Still at warp two, sir."

"Keep following."

*  *  *

It had been a gamble.  A very large gamble, going in like that, after a starship.  He'd figured that it was very likely that the captain would get his shields up in time, and he'd have to peel off and run for it.  They'd make it, but it would take a month to get his people's confidence back.  And in this business, gang leaders with gangs who lacked confidence in them generally didn't last a month.  But you didn't get anywhere in life if you never gambled.

And this gamble had paid off.  In spades.  Sensors weren't as fine as he'd like, but he knew they'd inflicted damage.  And he'd learned something more important.  The starship captain was slow.  Which gave him an advantage.  Because the leader of the Sharks was many things, but he wasn't slow.

"What's the _Enterprise_ doing?"

"Still following," helmsman said.  "Still at warp three."

"Good."

"How's it _good_?  They're catching us!  Let me go to warp four, huh?"

"Keep her at warp two."

"She's closing."

"Keep her."

"Hundred-thousand kilometers."

"Steady…"

"Eighty-thousand kilometers."

_"Steady…"_

"Sixty-thousand…can I go to warp three at least?"

"Steady at two."

"All right, but she's at forty-thousand."

_"Steady…"_

"Twenty-thousan—"

"Full stop!"

"Full st—?"

"FULL STOP!"

The helmsman shrugged.  "_You_ pay for the funerals."  Then he stopped.

From faster than light to nothing in two seconds flat.  It's a wonder anyone stayed in their seats, but they did.

"_Enterprise_ is still moving—no, she dropped out of warp, twenty-thousand kilometers ahead!"

"_Fire phasers_!"

"Aye, _aye_!"  The combination helmsman/weapons officer whooped.  "Direct hits!"

"Warp _five_, right angle to our previous course."

The mood was absolutely jovial.  The helmsman was beaming as he complied.  "_Now_ I remember why I'm workin' for you, Cap'n!"

The man at the center of the bridge allowed himself a half-smile that in no way did justice to the elation he was feeling.  "You just keep on remembering that."

*  *  *

"Twenty-thousand kilometers….eighteen-thou—Keptin, they've vanished—no, they've dropped out of varp!"

Lowell blinked.  "Well then, drop out of warp."

They did, but by then they were well past the pirates.

"Captain, they're behind us," Sulu reported.  "And firing!"

Once again half the bridge crew achieved flight.  By the time they righted themselves their shields were at 67 percent, and their port nacelle was having some problems.

"The Cochrane Deceleration Maneuver," Spock commented.  "Created by Garth of Izar at the Battle of Axanar.  Fascinating."

The Sharks, meanwhile, were running again, many times faster than what had previously been believed to be their top speed.

"Pursue, at warp six," Lowell ordered.  "Oh, and fire at will," he added as an afterthought.

"Aye, sir," Sulu said.  "Wish I knew how they got a warp-five engine onto that rat-trap of a ship."

"I suspect they are draining power from most of their shipboard systems," Spock said in answer.  "I doubt they can maintain this speed for any length of time."

Spock, as he always was (to the intense annoyance of most of the crew), was completely correct.  The Sharks were eating into their own life support by the end, but they kept at Warp Five for almost an hour.  A few well-executed maneuvers and a _lot_ of fast thinking kept the Sharks in the game, despite the _Enterprise_'s faster speed, stronger weapons, and better shields.  The _Enterprise_ could move faster, but the leader of the Sharks could think faster.

Shots were exchanged on either side.  A few lucky shots and a few slow reactions knocked the _Enterprise_'s shields down to fifty-percent.  The _Enterprise_ was scoring shots too though, and the Sharks' situation was growing desperate.

Desperate times, as they always do, called for desperate measures.  And the Sharks weren't half bad at desperate measures.  The Sharks' leader had one particular move in mind.  It was a last case-scenario, last-ditch, desperation, do or die, sort of measure.  He didn't even hesitate.  He outlined the plan, received a few dubious looks, and they went for it.

The next time the _Enterprise_ scored a hit, the helmsman dropped the Sharks' ship out of warp and sent them into a tailspin.  After several times around they vented impulse baffles, then cut power to everything.  Except for one little monitor, that showed two little blips.  One moving, one stationary.

"Someone please explain to me why we had to spin like that."  The man at the back of the bridge was having troubles with his stomach.

"Between the spinning, and the cloud from the impulse baffles, and now the shut down, they're going to think they just killed us, and come in with their guard down.  And then…"

*  *  *

The bridge crew watched as the pirate ship suddenly flipped around, and spun, apparently out of control.  A cloud erupted and slowly spread away from the ship, and all power went out.

"I think we just did it," Sulu said, a little surprised at the sudden reaction.  Shields must've been lower than they'd thought.

"If you mean the pirates have lost the capability to continue the battle, it is a possibility," Spock allowed.

"Let's move in closer," Lowell suggested.

Sulu started to comply.

"Captain, perhaps we should do a sensor sweep first," Spock cautioned.

"On a defeated ship?  No purpose in that," Lowell said dismissively.

So they went in.  Completely unprepared for battle.

*  *  *

The Sharks watched their single monitor, and waited.  The _Enterprise_ moved in.  And all at once the Sharks' ship flared back to life.

"_Fire_!  Fire _everything_!  I don't care if you burn out our phasers, just _hit them_!"

They did.

*  *  *

Spock was the only one on the bridge to stay in his seat.  Alarms clanged, consoles sparked and smoked, and half the lights sputtered and died.  Spock checked his read-outs.  There was no good news.  Shields were virtually gone, hanging on at nine percent.  The minor problems in the port nacelle had developed into major problems, and the starboard nacelle was having its own difficulties.  There were hull breaches, minor to major, from decks two to nine, and phasers would be out for some time.

"Captain, I believe we may have a problem."

There was no response.  Spock turned to view the rest of the bridge.  The bridge itself was recovering nicely; automatic fire extinguishers had already put out the worst of the smoking consoles, emergency lights were filling the gaps, and the worst of the alarms had already gone quiet.  The bridge crew wasn't recovering quite so quickly.  Sulu and Chekov were slowly getting back into their chairs.  Uhura was sitting next to hers, one hand to her head.  She appeared conscious though.  Unlike Lowell, who was sprawled near his command chair.

Spock stepped past Uhura, and keyed Sickbay.  "Bridge to Sickbay.  We need a medical team."  It was then he saw that they were being hailed, audio only.  He flicked the necessary switch.

A voice played out over the bridge, an exultant voice.  "Repeat: This is the leader of the Sharks.  We're coming alongside.  Prepare to be boarded."

Whatshername: Glad you're enjoying this, thank you for reviewing right after I posted and was feeling jittery about it!  So where's more TRM?

Silverfang: Please, please, please tell me that you didn't mean that Lowell was like Kirk.  Because hopefully by now you've caught on that he really isn't…I mean, _really_ isn't…

Wedge Antilles: Believe me, the shirts are the least of anyone's concerns.

Katharos: YES!  You got it!  Lowell is BO-RING!  Ditto for the Enterprise's mission!  (well, until now, that is.)  You had exactly the reaction to Lowell I was going for.  : )  And as for Kirk being a pirate…Hmm.  It's an interesting concept.  But on the other hand, "not killing crews" just means they aren't coming aboard and killing everyone when they steal stuff.  Can you really picture Kirk as part of a gang of lowlifes and scum from Rigel who travel around the seedier parts of the galaxy primarily attacking unarmed merchant ships and stealing their cargo, and who knows who gets killed in the initial fight?  Yeah, they're after tougher ships than most pirates, and yeah, as you can see, they went for the starship when it turned up, but the money is in the cargo ships and that's who they're mostly attacking.  Nogura is more concerned by the instances of attacks on challenging targets, which is why he mentioned them.  Anyway, it is an interesting thought though.

Anonymous: Well, now you know how they deal with action!

Beedrill: Something different.  A chance to branch out.  I feel like one of the comedians who say they want to do dramatic roles.  And yes, poor Spock!  I feel sorry for him too, even though I put him in the position.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody or anything.  Really.

Did I mislead the poor readers?  Y'know, I think it's possible…All I can say is, expect the unexpected…well, read on before I give it away.

Oh yeah, I meant to post Xanth, honest I did.  But then I had a surge of inspiration for this story.  I'll get to Xanth next, really.  In the meantime…

CHAPTER FOUR

Despite the direness of the situation, business proceeded with order and a minimum of hysteria.  But that was only to be accepted as logical.  After all, by default, Spock was in command.

The words of the Sharks' leader echoed through the bridge.  They were not well received by the bridge crew.

"They cannot _do_ that!" Chekov insisted, outraged.  "Ve are a _starship_!  They cannot _board_ us!"

"By that reasoning, I assume they also cannot defeat us in battle?" Spock asked rhetorically.

Chekov fell silent, and bent over his console.  Spock had made his point.  He didn't dwell on the matter.  He had too many other things to think about.

Spock bent over his own console.  Behind him a medical team arrived and took charge of Lowell.  Uhura insisted she was fine and they let her be.  Sulu and Chekov, not sure what else to do, dealt with any consoles still sparking.  Spock ignored all of it.

First, he needed to determine if there was any possibility that Chekov could in fact be correct.  _Could_ they prevent boarding?  He objected on principle to the inexactness of the figures he was reading.  In practice it mattered little.  There were no means available.

He calculated it would take the pirates 31.4873 minutes to dock their ship and disembark.  He would have sufficient time to determine the exact status of the ship.  Whether he would be able to do anything about it remained to be seen.

*  *  *

Things were tense on the bridge, and harried in Sickbay.  Doctors and nurses moved through the rooms in a controlled state of chaos, as crewmembers with varying degrees of injuries came, or were brought, in for medical attention.

Dr. McCoy ran his scanner over the engineer he was checking.  There must have been an explosion of some kind in engineering, probably not too large.  So far three engineers had come in with burns.  The one he was checking was the worst, with burns down his right side and leg.  No internal injuries though, and no signs that the man was going into shock.  His condition looked—and probably felt—worse than it really was.  With the right treatment, and regeneration later on, there probably wouldn't even be scars.

McCoy put the engineer at the top of his list of people who needed attention as soon as possible, but weren't suffering from life-threatening injuries.  He used a hypo to inject something for the pain, and told him, "You're going to be just fine."

The engineer nodded, biting his lip.  "I know, Doctor."

McCoy, starting to move on, stopped and turned back, looking at the engineer, a kid of twenty-three.  His eyes narrowed.  "Now wait a minute, no, you _don't_ know.  You said you know, but you think I'm just saying that because I don't want to tell you that you're going to die.  If you were going to die, I would tell you that you were going to die.  You are not going to die.  Now say 'yes, Doctor,' and say it like you _mean_ it."

The engineer nodded more vigorously this time.  "Yes, Doctor."

"That's better," McCoy said gruffly, and clapped the man on his good shoulder.  He turned, and headed across the room.  By pure chance he was passing the comm unit when it buzzed insistently.  A quick glance around the room showed that everyone was occupied.  McCoy sighed and slapped the comm.  "What?"

"Dr. McCoy, I presume?" a dry voice said.

McCoy stifled a groan.  Talking to Spock was _always_ a sure-fire way to improve his day.  "You presume correctly, Mr. Spock," he said with exaggerated politeness.  "What can I do for you, we're a little busy here."

"Do you have the numbers of casualties?"

Casualty numbers.  He'd been too busy trying to keep them down to bother counting what they actually were.  "I'm not sure, hang on."

There was a pause.  "Hang on to what?"

McCoy rolled his eyes and didn't answer.  He scanned the busy room.  "Hey, M'Benga, the bridge wants casualty numbers, have you got 'em?"

"Sure, Doc."  M'Benga tossed him a PADD and kept walking.

McCoy frowned.  Would've been nice if M'Benga would've taken the call entirely.  But you can't have everything.  He looked at the PADD.  "Well, numbers aren't good, but not as bad as they could've been.  The worst hull breaches were in empty areas—"

"Doctor, I do not have an overabundance of time.  Just the numbers, please."

"Nine dead, twelve critical, twenty-nine injured," McCoy snapped.  "Anything else?"

Spock's sense of duty recalled another question.  "How is Captain Lowell?"

"Lowell?"  Oh, right, the bridge had called for a medical team.  He'd been in surgery when that call came in.  Then there'd been a security guard with the cracked ribs and the punctured lung.  And then the engineer with the burns.  The long and the short of it was that Lowell had slipped past his notice.  And he prided himself on knowing everything in his Sickbay.  Well, it had been a hectic last hour.  Anybody can be forgiven for missing one patient.  "Hang on, Spock…no, _don't_ say it!"  Let's see, Nurse Chapel had been on that medical team…  "Hey Chris, how's Lowell?"

Chapel, walking by, paused, rubbing a hand across her forehead.  "Captain Lowell?  He's in bed four.  Concussion.  I gave him some cortrazine.  Hopefully it'll prevent a coma.  Can't be sure, but there's nothing else to do.  A wait-and-see case."

"Thanks, Chris.  You hear all that, Spock?"

"As superior as Vulcan hearing is, no, I did not."

"Oh.  Well—"

"The condensed version, please."

"Concussion!  Treated to prevent coma, but we can't guarantee anything, so you'll have to give it some time," McCoy snapped.

"Thank you.  Bridge ou—"

"What are you in such an all-fired rush about?" McCoy demanded.  "The battle's over, nothing's happening!"

"On the contrary, Doctor.  I estimate that we will be boarded in 15.219 minutes."

"We'll be _what_?"

"I am hopeful of facilitating a peaceful and mutually beneficial line of communication."

"Facili—!  Peacefu—!  Mutually _beneficial_…!"

McCoy was beginning to attract stares, even in the noisy Sickbay.  He ignored them.

"Excuse me, Doctor, I have other business to attend to.  Bridge out."

McCoy stared at the silent comm unit.  There was no doubt in his mind.  They were damaged fairly badly.  They were being boarded by pirates in 15-point-whatever minutes.  And Spock was in command.  No, there was no doubt in his mind.

They were doomed.

*  *  *

Fourteen-point-twelve minutes later, at the docking bay.  The pirates' ship had docked alongside their saucer section, and within moments (1.199 minutes) the airlock would be opening and the Sharks would be boarding.  True to his determination to facilitate peaceful communication, Spock was not meeting them with phaser fire, but with something resembling a delegation, composed of himself, Sulu, and Chekov.  One might have expected more than one member of the senior crew, but Captain Lowell was incapacitated and Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott were both busy in their respective areas.  And as one person's business was repairing the ship and the other's was repairing the crew, it seemed wise to leave them to their jobs.

31.51 minutes following their original announcement, the pirates boarded the _Enterprise_.  The airlock opened with an audible hiss, revealing shadowed figures behind.  The figures stepped forward into the light of the airlock, going from shadowy half-forms to ordinary people.  The pirate leader was in front, and Spock obtained his first view of this man who'd beaten a starship.

Spock didn't know how he knew that this was the pirate leader; he simply knew.  Anyone looking at him would have known; the rest of the bridge crew knew.  He was outwardly no more remarkable than the three men behind him.  Human, average height and weight, brown hair, flashing hazel eyes.  At a cursory glance, the only thing that stood him apart from his friends was his black coat of preserved animal skin—Spock remembered that they were called leather jackets.  But even a slightly closer glance would have revealed the man's other coat, the one that didn't exist but was there nonetheless, and once spotted almost more obvious than the leather one.  The metaphorical cloak of command, which a pirate had no business having but somehow had anyway.  This was a man who would naturally take charge of a situation, and not have his right to do so questioned.  Spock realized with faint surprise that he had seen something of the sort before.  Christopher Pike had had a similar air.  He would not have expected to find similarities between this man and Captain Pike.  Spock drew himself up sharply at that.  There were no similarities here.  There were no comparisons to be made.  Christopher Pike was a starship captain, a respected member of Starfleet.  This man was a pirate, a raider, someone who preyed on defenseless merchant ships, worse than a simple thief.  Here there was no honor, and no respect deserved.

The pirates were watching the Starfleet crew just as warily as the Starfleet crew was watching the pirates.  Except their leader, who was looking around the bay with more interest than caution, more confidence than concern.  Spock would not respect him, but he would have to be careful not to underestimate him either.

Spock stepped forward from the small cluster of officers.  "You are the leader of the Sharks?"  He knew the answer, obviously, but it was as effective an opening as the other seventeen he could think of.

He nodded, studying Spock.  "Funny, I could've sworn there were no Vulcan starship captains in Starfleet," he drawled.

Bigotry?  Perhaps.  An idle comment?  Perhaps.  Either way, Spock didn't even blink.  "I am second in command.  The captain is injured."

He actually looked a trifle regretful.  "Too bad, I wanted to meet a starship captain."  He dismissed the regret quickly.  "Of course, he obviously can't be half as impressive as they say.  Considering how our little fight went."

There was a rumble of laughter from the pirates behind him.  Spock could think of no appropriate responses, and so made none.  A moment passed.  The pirate leader continued glancing around the bay, and finally looked back at Spock.

"So…what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't."

He waited a moment, with no further response.  "And…you gonna tell me what your name is?"

"I am Spock, first officer and science officer of the starship _Enterprise_.  And your name is?"

He flashed a grin.  "I'm Jim Kirk.  Leader of the Sharks."

I never quite said he wasn't, you know…

Katharos: I misled you, didn't I?  I know.  It was deliberate.  It was just that you were catching on to every miniscule clue I threw out (which actually I was rather impressed by) and I didn't want you to give it away before I could! : ) And you know, if you read it carefully, all I said was that it was an interesting thought (which it was, because it was true) and asked if you could picture it.  Obviously, the answer is yes, I can.  And you really understood Lowell; he's great with signatures and diplomats, but space battles…?  Nope.

Whatshername: As I'm sure you've caught on, there were obvious reasons why I didn't answer your question regarding Kirk.  Well…now you know.  And yeah, Lowell is nice…_but_!

WedgeAntilles: Thank you!  I haven't written many space battle scenes…and as to the red-shirts, well, they _might_ survive.  After all, Spock is hoping for a mutually beneficial line of communication…

Silverfang: What can I say?  Lowell has issues with the shields.

RadarPLO: I suppose dunderhead is one way to describe him…

Emp: I may have killed the idea of Kirk being the pirate leader, but I didn't bury it!

Kiri: Now aren't you glad I needled you into reading this?  Even if you didn't (don't) like certain aspects of it?

Mzsnaz: I know.  He's the anti-Kirk.  And poor, poor Spock…

Beedrill: Y'know, I think you're Lowell's first vote of sympathy.  I'm glad someone feels sorry for him.  He needs it.  But don't worry, he doesn't feel lousy right now…he's unconscious, remember?  As for how the ordeal will affect everyone…well, that's a major theme that we'll be getting into soon…

For now though, review!  


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Star Trek is in no way owned by me.  I suppose I own the Sharks.  Most of them, anyway.

I finally have a nice long chapter for you.  Enjoy!

CHAPTER FIVE

"So, Mr.…Spock, was it?"

Spock nodded.  "Yes."

"So, Mr. Spock, what's next on the plan?" Kirk asked.  "Gonna give me the one about how it's better if I surrender and give myself up willingly?  Believe me, I've heard it."

"Actually, I was planning to negotiate."

Kirk looked at him a trifle blankly.  "Negotiate?"

"Yes.  As I see it, we are in not dissimilar positions, and negotiating is preferable to continuing the battle, and potentially losing more lives."

There was a stirring on Spock's left.  He turned to regard Chekov.  The young man was red-faced with anger.

"Mr. Spock, ve cannot negotiate vith _criminals_!" he spat.  "It is beneath our dignity as Starfleet officers!"

"Mr. Chekov, please try to remember that you are an ensign and act accordingly," Spock said icily.  "Do not contradict me."

"Yessir," he muttered, chastised and sullen.

Spock turned back to the matter at hand.  "As I was saying—negotiations rather than mutual destruction seem the best course of action."

Kirk shrugged.  "What the hell, why not?"

Spock blinked, and tried to recall if he had ever heard these particular phrases used in similar context before.  He doubted it.  "Is that an affirmative, or a negative?"

"That's a yes.  Your ship or mine?"

"Our briefing room seems suitable."

Kirk shrugged again.  "Okay, works for me."  He turned to the four flanking men behind him.  A jerk of his head indicated that the two on the left should come.  He gave a look and a nod to the two on the right.  And then he paused, and sighed in resignation.  "Alright, where is he?"

The other Sharks apparently knew who he meant.  One of them, a man with plain features and an anything but plain scar stretching from his eyebrow to his jaw, grinned and shrugged.  "He's down on his bunk swearing he's dying.  He didn't appreciate that last spin we took too much."

Kirk laughed.  "Figures.  Too bad, he'd've liked this."  He turned back towards the Starfleet crew.  "Okay then, let's move."

As he started to walk forward the movement shifted his black leather jacket slightly, and Spock saw something he hadn't observed before: the phaser pistol at Kirk's belt.

"Weapons must be left behind," Spock said immediately.

For a moment he thought Kirk might object, but he didn't.  "Observant, aren't you?" he commented, unclipping the phaser and flipping it behind him.  One of the men not indicated to come caught it deftly.  "That means you too," he added to the two who were coming.

They looked even more likely to object than Kirk had.  Kirk locked gazes with them, and, grumbling, they passed over their several weapons.

"_Now_.  Any _other_ holdups?" Kirk asked.

"I can think of none.  We should adjourn to the briefing room."

"Oh, by all means.  Let us _adjourn_ to the briefing room."

Actually, there was one more holdup.  Spock sent Sulu back to the bridge, judging that he could be more useful taking charge there.  Perhaps it would have been better to separate Chekov from the pirates, but Sulu was the higher ranking officer and therefore more suitable for being in command on the bridge while Spock ran the negotiations.

And _then_ they adjourned.

*  *  *

Kirk dropped into a chair at the briefing table.  He swiveled the chair once, turned it to the side, and swung his feet up to rest on the back of the chair next to him.  He leaned back, elbow on the table, fingers drumming.  Spock looked at him with an expression of faint disapproval, but refrained from comment as he sat down across from Kirk.

The table was split down the center, Chekov sitting on the same side as Spock, the two Sharks taking up positions sitting on either side of Kirk.

Kirk liked it that way.  He could see his adversary.  O'Riley and Carl (neither one had another name, or if they did they didn't give it) bore close watching as a general rule, but at the moment the Vulcan was the one he needed to keep an eye on.  He hadn't known many Vulcans, but he had a hunch that there was more to this guy than showed.  If not…well, this would be almost too easy then.  As for the other one…Chekov, that was it, well, he might be worth watching too.

But one can analyze adversaries for only so long.

"So, what's the plan?" Kirk asked, slouching in his chair.

Spock sat ramrod straight, in sharp contrast to Kirk's sprawled position, as he addressed the question.  "I assume that you are knowledgeable regarding our mutual circumstances.  Having just come from battle, both our ships are damaged, which effectively equalizes us."

"Except that we have phasers and you don't have shields," Kirk pointed out.

"Nine percent."

Kirk blinked.  "What?"

"Our shields are at nine percent."

"And does that _really_ make any difference?"

"Only in the pursuit of accuracy."

A noble pursuit, that," Kirk said dryly.  "You coming up on a point any time soon?"  He was half hoping to get a rise out of Spock, but wasn't surprised when he didn't.

"As we are in equal circumstances, and forced to remain so until repairs can be completed, it does not seem unreasonable to suggest cooperation."

It seemed unreasonable to at least one person at the table.

"Mr. Spock, ve cannot cooperate vith…vith crooks!" Chekov said hotly.

"Maybe you're overestimating my terribleness," Kirk suggested.

"You are a pirate!"  One would have thought 'pirate' was a curse the way Chekov flung it out.

Kirk noted that Spock hadn't made any move to stop the younger officer.  Maybe he was equally interested in Kirk's response.  Kirk couldn't blame him.

Kirk swung his feet down to the floor, straightened in his chair, and assumed a position of injured innocence, palms flat on the tabletop.  "Well, yes, that's true.  But there's pirates and there's pirates.  You've got your Captain Hook, and then you've got your Sir Francis Drake.  One fought Peter Pan, the other one was knighted by the queen.  I like to think that I can identify more closely with the latter."

If he'd thought this would convince Chekov, he was dead wrong.  Chekov wasn't buying it for a second.  "You prey on defenseless merchant ships!"

"Well, yes, that's true too," Kirk admitted.  "But it's not exactly my chosen career.  It's a tough galaxy out there.  You've got it easy in Starfleet, but it's not an easy galaxy.  When push comes to shove, I'd rather raid than be raided."  He paused, then added, as though it were an afterthought which it wasn't, "Wouldn't you?"

Chekov glared at him.  "Vhat I vould prefer is not the point.  You attacked us and damaged our ship."

"I'm sorry about that," Kirk said sincerely.  "She's an impressive ship."

"And Captain Lowell is in a coma in Sickbay!"

"I'm less sorry about that," Kirk mused.  "He doesn't seem like a very impressive captain."  He shrugged expressively.  "After all, doesn't say much when he's got _this_ ship behind him and he still can't win the battle.  Doesn't say much for the crew either," he added thoughtfully.

Chekov started out of his chair on that one, and Spock finally intervened.

"Enough," Spock said sharply.  "Now is not the time for this.  Try to stay on the topic at hand."

"Of _course_," Kirk agreed with exaggerated pleasantry.  "Cooperation, was it?  An exchange of engineers, maybe?"

"A simple agreement to a cessation of hostilities for a period of time to allow repairs should be sufficient.  More than that does not appear viable," Spock said dryly.

"A truce while we repair?  And after we get our ships back together you go back to trying to catch me and drag me off to a penal colony, and I go back to either fighting or running for it?"

Spock nodded curt agreement.  "Essentially.  Unless you prefer to surrender at once—"

"I knew, I _knew_ it!" Kirk said triumphantly.  "It _never_ fails!  What, is it in your mission directive to ask for surrenders?"

"It _is_ advised by Starfleet."

Kirk's lip curled at the mention of Starfleet.  "Well, they're not getting me, not today."  He inhaled, and went on in a calmer tone.  "The truce isn't an entirely bad idea though."

Carl, a giant of a man whose every appearance simply proclaimed 'thug,' was apparently paying some slight amount of attention to the conversation.  "You mean I can't kill 'em?" he rumbled.

Kirk shot him an exasperated look.  "Don't you ever think of anything else?"

Carl smirked.  "Sure, but there ain't any hot dames around."

O'Riley guffawed, while Chekov glared at Carl.  "Cossack," he muttered.

Carl jumped out of his chair, outraged.  "You take that back," he growled.

"Take it easy," Kirk said languidly.

"What'd he call me?" Carl demanded.

"A Cossack, weren't you listening?"

"I ain't neither!  What's a koss-ack?"

"Oh just sit down," Kirk told him.  "Kill him on your own time, I've got better things to do with mine.

Disgruntled, Carl reclaimed his chair, which had been knocked over when he got out of it.

"Trying to talk truce and you want to murder someone."  Kirk shook his head.  "Sometimes I wonder…anyway, we were agreeing to a truce?"

"We were."  Spock's tone, though subtle, very clearly indicated that he did not approve of the many distractions.  Kirk suspected that most meetings of ambassadors to declare truces didn't go much like this one.

"All right, truce it is," Kirk concluded, extending a hand across the table.  "Shake on it?"

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Vulcans do not shake hands."

Kirk was more amused than otherwise.  "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.  How about you, you want to shake on it?" he asked Chekov.

"No."

Kirk shook his head.  "Honestly, a guy tries to prove his veracity—"

The comm unit buzzed right on "veracity," and a voice that somehow didn't sound Starfleet came over the line.  "Uh…control room to briefing room…are you sure that's how this works, computer systems I know, comm systems lose me…Well, Kirk, y'there?"

As soon as the voice had begun the atmosphere in the briefing room had changed.  O'Riley and Carl had become truly interested in the proceedings, possibly for the first time.  The Starfleet officers had grown tense.  But the biggest change had come over Kirk.  Since coming into the room his attitude had clearly been one of casual half interest, from his nonchalant tone to the way he lounged in his chair.  That had changed.

Within seconds of the comm signal Kirk was on his feet, alert and ready for action.  And his hands weren't open or empty.  His right hand, extended to shake on a truce agreement just a moment earlier, was holding a type-1 phaser that had appeared from the inside of his jacket, and pointing it directly at Spock.

"I advise you not to move," he said quietly.  Gone was the casual man who had agreed to negotiating with the simple reasoning of "what the hell, why not?"  This was a criminal leader, who knew _exactly_ what he was doing.  He stepped over to the comm unit, neither his eyes nor his phaser wavering from Spock, and deftly thumbed on the comm.  No one thought to wonder how he knew how to use it.  "Yeah, Reeves, I'm here," he answered.  "You did it?"

Reeves' low whistle of admiration came over the comm link.  "You wouldn't believe the security on these things!  You'd think I was hacking into Fort Knox!"

"But you did it," Kirk persisted.

"I'm the best there is, remember?"

"That means you did it?"

"Yeah," Reeves confirmed.  "That means I did it.  The door's wide open, the preliminary codes are in, I'm set for your final codes whenever you want to input 'em."

"Reeves, you're a miracle worker," Kirk said sincerely.  "I'll be down soon.  Kirk out."  Kirk flipped off the comm, turning his full attention back to the briefing room.

"What have you done?" Spock asked in a low voice.

Kirk didn't answer the question.  "Haven't had much experience with crooks, have you, Mr. Spock?" Kirk said conversationally, as he regarded his phaser thoughtfully.  "We _never_ carry only one weapon."

"What have you done?" Spock repeated, tone precisely the same.

"Well…you could say I turned the tables, but I don't think I was too far behind to begin with.  I seized the moment, grabbed my opportunity.  Those two guys who didn't come with us?  They've been following the plan I didn't expect to have the opportunity to implement but had in the background anyway.  They stunned the guards you left in the docking bay, infiltrated your ship, got into a control room, and Reeves hacked into your system.  And made a few changes.  Your computer relies heavily on voice commands and codes.  Well…it answers to _me_ now.  And _my_ codes only."  Kirk smiled, a pleasant smile with an unpleasant edge.  "I think we can declare the truce officially off."

"You were agreeing to a truce while instigating a plot to control the ship?"  The absolute treachery and audacity of it had Spock taken aback.  "You agreed to peace, while planning for war?"  

Kirk seemed to consider the matter carefully.  He nodded.  "Yeah, I think that about sums it up."

"The entire purpose of the negotiations was to prevent—"

"The negotiations were purposeless and pointless right from the beginning," Kirk said bluntly.  "We were in a battle an hour ago and you expect to just up and declare peace?  Where did you even _get_ that idea?"  By now, Kirk was deliberately trying to see how far he could push Spock before he got a rise out of him.

Apparently, a long way.  Spock was giving him the Vulcan equivalent to a hostile stare, but he remained the epitome of self-control.  "The teachings of Surak," he said quietly.  "When in situations of war, there are alternatives.  Continuing the cycle of violence, or making overtures of peace.  Surak's convictions towards the latter were most profound.  Early emissaries were killed, but with continuing effort success could be achieved.  Surak taught that, with work, peace could be achieved in any circumstance, regardless of—"

"The man didn't live in the real world, did he?"

The muscles in Spock's jaw tightened, the only outward sign of any reaction to this casual disregard for his planet's most revered philosopher.  "Surely it is more logical to heal than to kill," Spock said evenly.

Kirk shook his head in mock sadness.  "I'm afraid that kind of logic doesn't apply here."

"That is precisely why we should not fight."

"That is precisely the attitude that got you in this little mess to begin with," Kirk pointed out.  "This whole peace junk hasn't gotten you very far, has it?  You'd have been better off just shooting me when I first stepped into the docking bay.  Come to think of it," he mused, "I was rather surprised when you didn't."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "In that case, why did you come into the docking bay?"

Kirk shrugged.  "It was a risk.  Risks are part of the business.  And thanks to you, this one paid off.  The 'negotiations' got me onto the ship and distracted you from the matters of real importance.  It really all worked out better than I could have hoped."

"I _knew_ you could not be trusted," Chekov growled.

"And you know something?  You were _completely_ correct," Kirk agreed, grinning broadly.  "I _can't_ be trusted.  I'm a _pirate_.  I prey on defenseless merchant ships.  Hell, _I_ wouldn't trust me as far as I can throw me!"

[smiles sweetly] Are we just a little disturbed yet?

A few general notes: I'm glad multiple people want to see how Kirk became a pirate.  We'll get into that, I have some flashbacks planned.  And as for Kirk in a leather jacket, give me your e-mail and I will be delighted to send you a picture!  

Wedge: Lowell as a pirate leader…now _there's_ a thought.  I find Kirk as a pirate much easier to imagine.  Hopefully by the time we get to the end of this you'll be able to see him as a pirate too! : )

Whatshername: That's a very good point!  Leather jackets _would_ be more durable!  Heehee.

Silverfang: Yeah, I can't help but write a little humor in occasionally.  ^_^

Kiri: Oh good, I won you over!  Glad you like!

RadarPLO: I find it so fascinating that you like Kirk and Spock being on opposite sides…well, you'll be enjoying the next several chapters then.

Bug: I also find it fascinating that you find him cooler as a pirate.  I guess he is, kinda.

Namariee: True, Spock probably will have some difficulties.  And y'know, I've never even seen West Side Story.  News to me that there's Sharks in it.  Complete coincidence, I swear.

Mzsnaz: You guessed by the line about luck?  And I was so careful to avoid mentioning risks…  Spock as a pirate.  That's harder to picture…

Samantha Quinn: Transporter split, I believe that's "Enemy Within."  A very good one.  And true, it's very like the Romulan Commander.  And no, no one's too concerned about Lowell!

Beedrill: I enjoyed writing the description of Kirk, I'm glad you liked!  Yeah, sorry about the cliffhangers…kinda sorry.

Katharos: It wasn't _quite_ lying…'nuff said.  The confrontations should be fun…

Emp: There'd be a problem if you were dying of laughter, since I wasn't trying to make anyone laugh.  But you like it, so that's the main point, thank you!

I'm actually going to be gone for a week…and then school starts… : (  But still, I think I can pretty well guarantee the next chapter in about a week.  In the meantime, review!


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.  I do own anything you don't recognize as normal.

Dear, dear, I'm late posting, aren't I?  I said a week ago.  Bad me.  I was busy with Trekkie Soul.  But then there was a burst of inspiration at ten p.m., and by eleven thirty I had a chapter.  I'm yawning today, but I'm also posting!

CHAPTER SIX

Things moved with remarkable speed after that.  Once Kirk got going, he wasn't an easy person to stop.  As the Starfleet officers discovered, to their dismay.  They weren't quite used to dealing with someone who moved from idea to action to the next idea with barely room for a thought between.  Captain Lowell didn't think or move that fast.  Kirk did.

"First order of business: the armory," Kirk decided.

"Ve don't have an armory," Chekov said immediately.

"The hell you don't," Kirk retorted.  "Think I don't know anything at all about starships?"

"Most non-Starfleet personnel do not know specifics," Spock observed.

"So?  I'm not most people."

"Who _are_ you?" Spock asked, hoping for some details of the past of this most unusual man.  He didn't get any.

"I told you—Jim Kirk.  Leader of the Sharks.  And right now I'm going to the armory."

"We will remain here," Spock said.

"And call security the minute I'm out the door?"  Kirk shook his head.  "I don't think so.  You're both coming with us.  And don't try anything.  The phaser's on kill."

They might have been inclined to argue but Kirk jerked the aforementioned phaser at them and they went.  Spock and Chekov in front, followed by Kirk, followed by Carl and O'Riley.

"Which direction do you keep your armory in?" Kirk asked once they were in the corridor, which was deserted.

"Ve vill not tell you," Chekov snapped.

Kirk shrugged.  "Suit yourself."

They continued down the corridor and Kirk directed them into the nearest turbolift.

Once inside, Kirk took hold of the handle and ordered, "Armory."  There was a hum and the turbolift started.  Kirk grinned at Chekov's frown.  "I know a little about starships, remember?  The computers are very user-friendly."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, everyone occupied with his own very different thoughts.  Kirk was, quite simply, exhilarated.  He was in one of those moments where he knew exactly what to do and everything he did came up golden.

Carl was still thinking about who he was going to kill.  Preferably starting with the short guy with the accent.  Once he got the go-ahead from Kirk, of course.  Carl was surly, aggressive and generally low in the IQ department, but he didn't argue with Kirk.

O'Riley was inscrutable.  The plain man with the scar, which he had never told anyone where he got, no one ever knew what he was thinking.

Spock was biding his time.  It was eminently clear that Mr. Kirk was an extreme threat.  The trouble was how to negate that threat.  Spock didn't know how.  His options were disturbingly limited.  The obvious course may have appeared to be to simply bodily attack Kirk and nerve-pinch him.  Which is what Spock would have done except that an effort of that sort was obviously doomed from the start by the presence of the phaser, which had never once turned away from himself and Chekov.  Even in the close quarters of the turbolift Spock was quite certain that he would be killed before anything could be accomplished.  Therefore waiting to act on the basis that a better opportunity would surface was not a gamble but a necessity.

Chekov was having vaguely similar thoughts, minus the careful reasoning.  He was bitterly resenting the phaser that prevented any immediate action, hoping that Mr. Spock had a plan while doubting that he did, and meanwhile forming wild plots of his own.  A small corner of his mind, in stark contrast to most of his thoughts, did acknowledge with a certain satisfaction that, human enemies regardless, _this_ was what Starfleet was _supposed_ to be like.

It wasn't a long trip to the armory.  Once there, the sign on the door left no doubt where to go.

Kirk started towards the door and Spock realized that there was never going to be a better opportunity.  Not that the perfect opportunity had arrived; it hadn't.  What had arrived was a certainty that things were only going to get worse, because within moments it wouldn't be one phaser to consider but many.  Therefore, the moment had to be now.  The phaser was still pointed in his direction, but Kirk's attention appeared to be focused on the armory.  If Spock could just get one hand on Kirk's shoulder…he estimated that it would take only one or two steps.

Spock thought this out quickly, and his movements were even quicker.  He came close, very close, his hand passing within centimeters of Kirk's shoulder.

But as fast as Spock moved Kirk moved faster.  His attention must not have been entirely on the armory because Spock had scarcely moved when the phaser snapped to cover him and Kirk fired.

The beam was a direct hit and Spock crumpled to the floor, unmoving.  [A/N: Should I stop here?  No…I'll keep going.]

"I guess fighting's okay if you do it Vulcan-style," Kirk commented, bringing the phaser around to cover Chekov, which was wise but unnecessary.

Chekov was shocked.  "You _killed_ him!" he said, appalled.

"I stunned him," Kirk corrected.

"But you said it was on kill…"

Kirk didn't bat an eye.  "I lied.  I can't be trusted, remember?"

Chekov glared at him.  "I remember."

"Good."  Kirk turned towards the armory door, then paused.  "Oh yeah.  Somebody pick up Mr. Spock, we can't leave limp Vulcans littering the corridors."

O'Riley leaned over and slung the unconscious Spock over his shoulder, apparently without difficulty.  It seemed that his relatively slim frame held considerable muscle.

That taken care of, Kirk jabbed the phaser into Chekov's back and prodded him towards the door.  It slid open on their approach.

"You really ought to keep this door locked," Kirk commented.

"Ve usually don't need to," Chekov said shortly.

"Guess not."  Kirk shrugged.  "And I'd have gotten it open anyway."

They entered the armory.  Chekov, then Kirk, then Carl, O'Riley and Spock.  Chekov was unsurprised.  He had seen the armory before and therefore was familiar with the racks of phaser rifles, the stacks of type-1 and type-2 phasers, as well as the relatively small assortment of other types of weaponry.  Kirk was unsurprised; or if he _was_ surprised, he didn't show it.  Spock had no reaction.  He was, after all, unconscious.  Carl and O'Riley were impressed, and didn't bother to hide it.

"_Damn_," Carl said admiringly.

"No wonder Starfleet runs the galaxy," O'Riley drawled.  "If we had all this, the rest of us might have a chance."

"Well, we've got 'em now," Kirk said, strapping a phaser pistol at his belt, then tossing a second one to O'Riley, who caught it with his free hand.

Kirk took more care giving a phaser to Carl.  He kept his own phaser in Chekov's back, but turned his attention on the Shark.  He extended the phaser.  Carl took hold of one end of it.  Kirk didn't let go.

"I don't want trouble," Kirk warned.

"That mean I can't kill anyone?"  Carl sounded disappointed by the idea.

"_Yes_, you can't kill anyone!"

"Aw come on, not even one?"

"Not even one!" Kirk snapped.  "We're not Orions, I've got standards!"

"Standards!" Chekov blurted.  "How can you talk about _standards_?  You are a _pirate_!  A crook, a thief, a hijacker, a liar, a criminal, a traitor, a _Cossack_!"

This was a very foolish outburst to make while Kirk's phaser was still pressed to his back.  Fortunately for Chekov, Kirk took it all with good humor.

"Guilty to everything," Kirk agreed.  "But we're not murderers.  And we're not _going_ to be murderers."  That last bit was at Carl, who frowned sullenly but nodded.  "Alright, let's move.  Control room next."

They found the control room the same way they'd found the armory, and it didn't take any longer.  At the control room Reeves and the other Shark, Tony, were greeted with enthusiasm, and Spock was dumped next to the unconscious crewmember who had been on duty in the control room.

With a few direction from Reeves Kirk took over the control panel and started implementing command codes.  Chekov would have loved to see those, but Kirk was careful to make sure that he was in no position to see.  In fact, none of them were, not even Reeves.

After a few minutes of quiet tapping Kirk stood up from the controls.  "I love starship computers," Kirk announced.

"You already said that," Chekov muttered.  Kirk hadn't, actually, but he had implied it.  Either way, he ignored Chekov.

"I've got all the codes in, how do I implement it?" Kirk asked Reeves.

"Hit the red button," Reeves directed.

Kirk did, and the computer crisply responded with, "New program has now been implemented."

Kirk rubbed his hands together.  "Okay.  Now it happens."

"Vhat happens?" Chekov asked suspiciously.

"Now I take over."

"Vith only four men?"  Chekov's expression very clearly showed his disbelief.

"I could do it alone," Kirk countered.  "That's the whole point of the codes.  And anyway, why am I explaining it to you?"

With that Kirk stopped paying attention to Chekov and turned to the task at hand.  First, he sealed the armory.

"Only security will be armed, that's about 15% of the crew, about 80 people…" Kirk said, thinking out loud.

"That still outnumbers us three to one," O'Riley pointed out.  It is doubtful Carl could have done the math.

"Doesn't matter," Kirk said easily, turning to the communication panel.  From there he called his own ship, apprised the Sharks of the situation, and warned them not to move without his order but to be ready.  And then he announced his presence to the crew.

"This is Jim Kirk speaking from your auxiliary control room," Kirk's voice came over the intercom, echoing throughout the ship.  "You probably don't know who I am.  I'll tell you.  I'm the leader of the Sharks.  And we're taking over.  We've got the control room.  We're hacked into the computer.  Resistance is pointless, you might as well surrender.  The sooner you do, the less mess there'll be to clean up later.  You have ten minutes.  Kirk out."

They didn't surrender in the next ten minutes.  Kirk took to the comm again, calling the bridge this time.  "Obviously, this isn't going to be quick and easy.  That's all right.  I have time.  You don't.  I'm flooding the bridge with gas, expect to be unconscious in two minutes.  Unless, of course, you prefer to surrender."

The bridge crew was unconscious in two minutes.  Kirk sent O'Riley, Reeves and Tony to bring back the bridge crew.  They did, stunning four security guards along the way, all of whom joined the growing pile of unconscious crewmembers in the corner.  Kirk sealed off the bridge.

Ten minutes after that the engineering room was equally asleep.  They were out of room in the control room, so Kirk sealed engineering with the crew inside.  Ten minutes after that it was the communications central control.  Then the dilithium crystal control room, then the security base, then the Mess Hall.

Fifteen minutes in there was a barrage of phaser fire outside the control room.  The door was sealed, and the phaser fire had no effect.  It was abandoned quickly.

Fifty minutes in the bridge crew woke up.  Sulu joined Chekov where he was sitting against the wall.

"So what's he going to do, kill us?" Sulu asked quietly, eyeing Kirk warily.

Chekov shook his head.  "No.  He is a pirate, a rat, and a Cossack, but he is not a murderer."

"I'm glad," Sulu said dubiously.

"Likevise."

An hour after Kirk first went on the intercom, a call came in.  "Mr. Kirk?  This is Lt. Commander Gray, chief of security."

Kirk leaned back in his chair and grinned.  "Something I can do for you, Lt. Commander Gray, chief of security?"

There was a long, unhappy pause.  Then, "I'm calling to surrender."

There we go, lots of nice plot advancement. I think we'll do a little more of that…and then we won't.

As to reviews:

Wedge: So, it getting any easier to see Kirk as a crook?

Broken Infinity: Funny you should use the word intriguing.  That's the word that kept chanting through my head when I first came up with this premise.  And I can't spell it either.

Earnest: Believable?  Excellent, that's the hardest part.

Nenya: Let's see, I already e-mailed you…I don't think there's anything I haven't already said.  Hope you enjoyed this chapter.

CrystalTiger: I'm glad Lowell has one fan.

Samantha Quinn: : ) I loved that line too.  And yes, I have read "Best Destiny!"  I can't say for sure that it influenced this story (hey, how should I know how my mind works?) but it certainly might have.

I-am-bug: Thanks, I'm very interested by the whole thing too.  Really, I mean it.  Here's some more, hope you liked!

Sailor Vulcan: BLACK FIRE!!  THANK YOU!  I understand now!  I finally know what the heck Keridwen was talking about in "Devil on your Doorstep!"  Ahem.  Anyway, thanks for that, and you can be happy, Lowell is in a coma.

RadarPLO: If you liked the dismissal of Surak, I'm already planning something else, several chapters down the line…hehe.

Emp: Continuing!  See?  Not quickly, but continuing.

Beedrill: "Dirty evil scoundrel."  Music to my ears.  And no, Kirk isn't all that different.  Except for being a dirty evil scoundrel.

That is all.  I hope to post again soon.  First flashback coming up, and a little surprise…


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Star Trek is Paramount's.  Gray is Whatshername's.  The Sharks (mostly) are mine.

I was gonna write Trekkie Soul.  I swear.  Than this kinda…happened.  This one writes itself, I swear.  But I'll get to Trekkie Soul next.

A long chapter…some plot advancement…a surprise I don't _think_ anyone has guessed…and the first flashback.  What more could you ask? : )

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lt. Commander Gray, chief of security, came down to the auxiliary control room, where he was graciously admitted—at phaser point, but graciously—to discuss the surrender.  The terms were simple.  Complete and unconditional.

"I don't think I'm being unreasonable," Kirk said.  "I could be nastier, believe me.  Complete and unconditional surrender sounds awful, but it's not that horrible.  Mostly I want you to turn in your phasers."

"We could do that," Gray said cautiously.

"You're going to have to.  Aside from that, I'm really not very interested in your crew.  Don't oppose me and we could co-exist very nicely."

Gray was a little puzzled.  "So…what _do_ you want?"

"Your ship, of course," Kirk said matter-of-factly.

Gray's eyebrows rose.  "The _Enterprise_?"

"The _U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701_…  Poetry," Kirk said a little whimsically, then snapped back to business.  "Yes.  The _Enterprise_."

Gray showed his first signs of objection.  He knew his hands were tied, that's why he'd come to surrender to begin with.  But no Starfleet officer has ever been known to simply roll over and let invaders take their ship.  Gray said as much.

Kirk laughed.  That was not quite what Gray had been going for.  Kirk did it anyway.  "Good grief, man, don't you _get_ it?  I'm being polite even talking to you, because there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me.  I already _have_ the ship.  Maybe you don't realize something.  I didn't just start fiddling with controls on the board here.  I'm hacked into the computer, the codes are changed, it's only answering to me.  You were too slow.  By the time anyone realized what was going on, my position was secure."  He shrugged.  "You're right.  You can't roll over.  Because you're already rolling."

Gray's mouth was set in a grim line as he glared at Kirk.  He was silent.  Such was not true for everyone.

"You cannot just _take_ our ship!" Chekov snapped, ignoring Sulu's efforts to hush him.  "Ve are a _starship_!  Starfleet vill not stand for it!  No petty criminal raider can possibly expect to get _avay_ vith this!"

"Mr. Chekov, when did you become a part of this conversation?" Kirk asked icily, managing a tone remarkably similar to Spock's earlier reprimand in the shuttlebay.

Chekov glared at him.  "_Someone_ has to point out the ineffectiveness of your plans."

"You know, I'm still carrying a phaser, do you _want_ to join your Vulcan friend in dreamland?"

"That would be difficult," a dry voice said, drawing their attention to the corner where Spock was getting to his feet with catlike grace, "as I am no longer unconscious."

"Mr. Spock!  Welcome back to the land of the living!" Kirk said cheerfully.  "We were just discussing surrender."

"Why?" was Spock's immediate question.

"We don't have any choice, Mr. Spock," Gray said grimly.  "He's got control of the computer."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Indeed."

"Indeed is right," Kirk grinned.

"What are the precise terms of the proposed surrender?"

"Complete and unconditional," Chekov spat.

"Generalities are not helpful.  I want specifics."

"All weapons handed over."  Kirk smirked a little wickedly.  "A cease-fire of a slightly different sort."

"Anything further?"

Kirk shrugged.  "Not much else.  I'm not interested in the people, I'm interested in the ship.  I don't want to murder anyone.  I don't even want to toss you in the brig, particularly.  Do your jobs, and don't fight me."  His tone hardened.  "Fight me, and it's a completely different story, because believe me, I'll fight back and you won't live through it."

"You said you veren't a murderer!" Chekov protested.

"I'm not.  But there's a difference between murdering and killing.  Murdering is taking life unnecessarily.  If killing you stays unnecessary, there won't be an issue.  Make it necessary, and I don't have a problem with killing half your crew."

"How can you just calmly talk about killing two hundred people?" Chekov demanded.  "That's awful!"

"It's practical," Kirk said flatly.  "What, you think I should be worried about the great loss of life?  The damage to my immortal soul maybe?  The tragic deaths of innocent people?  Hell, I worry about all that and _I'm_ the one who's dead.  When it comes right down to you or me, it sure as hell isn't gonna be me, and that's the only attitude that's gonna get me anywhere in this galaxy.  You or me, and—if necessary—I'll kill you all.  And it won't keep me awake at night, either."

"It would be difficult to kill us all," Spock said evenly.  "Even unarmed, we still outnumber you 18.913 to 1.  I see no reason that we would be unable to overpower you through force of numbers."

Kirk nodded.  "Valid point.  But an open rebellion isn't going to work.  One word from me freezes every control on this ship, which would make running it a little difficult.  And if you shoot me in the back, you're gonna have an even bigger problem than you do now.  I didn't just change codes, I inputted a new program.  You might say that your computer is on a continuous ten-hour countdown to self-destruct.  I thought it was rather clever, personally.  Every ten hours an alarm goes off and there's five minutes to input the right code.  And I'm the only one who knows it.  If it's not put in…"  He shrugged.  "Destruction.  Go ahead.  Call my bluff.  Retake the ship, toss me in the brig.  The consequences won't be pleasant for anyone."

The Starfleet officers were silent for a long moment.  Even Chekov.

"We seem to be very neatly boxed in," Spock said finally.

"Yes," Kirk agreed.

"In which case we have no choice," Spock continued, ignoring Chekov's inarticulate sound of outrage.  "We have no choice but to surrender."

Kirk smiled.  "I was hoping you'd see it that way."

The surrender was accomplished quickly and easily.  Kirk, Gray and Spock all explained it over the comm.  The crew took it fairly calmly.  Phasers were collected with a minimum of fuss.  Engineering, the Mess Hall, and everywhere else were unsealed.  In no time the Sharks were spreading through the ship.

A little surprisingly, perhaps, Kirk didn't go to join the rest of the Sharks.  Instead, he stuck with the bridge crew, who were going back to the bridge.  Kirk went with them.  O'Riley, reasons unknown, did the same.  Reeves was more interested in continuing to fiddle with the computer.  Carl was more interested in the Mess Hall.

On the bridge, the crew scattered to their respective stations.  Spock took up his position at the science station, ignoring the central chair.  O'Riley was a dark presence in a back corner.  Not that the bridge had corners, as it was round, but metaphorically speaking he was off in a corner.

Kirk didn't immediately go anywhere.  He stopped just out of the turbolift and stayed there, regarding the bridge on a whole.  His expression was unreadable.

He was still standing there when the turbolift hissed open again and ejected another person.  He certainly wasn't Starfleet, but he didn't look much like a pirate either.  Look like it or not, he was a Shark.  Still, there was something inherently likeable in his broad face, something inescapably comical in his plump frame and large mustache.

Kirk grinned at him.  Very possibly the first truly pleasant, genuine grin Kirk had managed since coming aboard.  "Hello, Harry.  I see you didn't die after all."

Harry Mudd drew himself up with an air of injured dignity.  "No, but it was a very near thing, Jim, a very near thing.  Those last few spins were simply intolerable!"

[A/N: : ) Anyone see that coming?]

"Yeah, probably.  But just look at the payoff," Kirk said with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire bridge.

Harry nodded.  "Very nice."

"Nice?  _Nice_!  She's beautiful!"

"_Yes_," Harry agreed.  He wasn't looking at the bridge.  He was looking at Uhura, who gave him one icy look and turned her back to him.

"The _ship_, Harry, I meant the ship," Kirk said patiently.

"Oh.  Well, she's beautiful too."  Harry's eyes gleamed.  "And worth a fortune."

"Don't you ever think of anything but money?" Kirk asked, stepping down to the lower part of the bridge.

"What else is there?"

Kirk shrugged.  "I don't know.  I use to know.  Don't know anymore."

Harry gave him a slightly odd look, which he didn't notice.  He had his back to Harry and was regarding the command chair.

"Always wanted one of these," Kirk said quietly, running one hand along the back of the chair.

"A chair?" Harry said, puzzled.

"A command chair."  In a sudden, decisive movement Kirk sat down.  He leaned back, viewed the bridge from this new vantage point.  "A command chair of a starship."

He didn't notice that at the science station Spock was watching him closely.  Spock had so far seen two Jim Kirks.  The casual, careless man of the negotiating table, and the calculating pirate leader with the phaser.  This was a third one, and as different from the other two as they were from each other.

Kirk wasn't thinking about Spock.  He had other things to think about.  "Yep.  Had it all planned out.  I was gonna be a Captain, and travel the stars.  Decided that when I was eight."

Maybe it was the effect of the bridge.  Maybe it was the chair.  Whatever it was, Kirk found himself drifting back into memories he hadn't thought of in a long, long time, of a twilight evening many years and many lightyears away…

The two boys chased each other through the fields, finally collapsing, laughing, between two rows of corn.  They lay on their backs, looking up at the night sky above.  The stars reminded one of the boys of something.

"Billy," he asked, "whatcha gonna do when you grow up?"

Billy shrugged.  "I dunno.  What are you gonna do, Jimmy?"

Jimmy Kirk grinned, and carelessly waved an arm at the expanse of stars above.  "I'm gonna go up _there_."

Billy wrinkled his nose in puzzlement.  "Up _there_?  Why?"

Jimmy considered.  He didn't know why, exactly.  He just knew he wanted to, had to, was going to.  He didn't know how to say that though, so he gave the only answer that made sense.  He shrugged.  "Because."

Billy nodded, accepting this.  "So what're you gonna _do_ up there?"

Jimmy's eyes sparkled.  "I'm gonna be like Garth of Izar."

"Who?"

Jimmy sighed deeply, a sigh denoting _long_ and patient suffering.  "Don't you know _anything_?" he asked scornfully.

"I know lots of things!" Billy protested.  "I just don't know who Darth of Isaac is."

"_Garth_ of _Izar_.  He's a Starship Captain.  He's _incredible_."

"Hmm."  Billy considered this.  "So what do starship captains do?"

"They fight Klingons, and Romulans, and…and…all _sorts_ of scary aliens."

"Like Vulcans?"

"_No_," Jimmy scoffed.  "Vulcans are good guys."

"_I_ think Vulcans are scary.  They never smile."

"Yeah, they're weird," Jimmy acknowledged.  "But they're Federation."

"So what else do starship captains do?"

Jimmy grinned, contemplating it.  "They're in charge of the Starship, so they can tell everyone else what to do.  And they get to travel all around the galaxy in their ship, and visit different planets, and meet new aliens, and protect the Federation from the bad ones.  And they travel around through all the stars, on and on and on.  And they can do _anything_, 'cause that's what Captains do.  If they want, they can even change the galaxy…"

Kirk shook himself out of the memory.  "Well.  Like I said.  Eight years old."  He laughed.  It wasn't a pleasant laugh.  It was a bitter, cynical laugh, and when he went on it was with a scornful tone.  "Kids, and their crazy dreams, who have _no_ idea what the galaxy is really like."

Well, it wasn't why he became a pirate, but it does offer some insight into Jim Kirk…and I thought it was cute.

Quick question to everyone: Okay, Kirk's cool as a pirate, leather jacket and everything, and, of course, he's _Kirk_, that says it all, but…are we getting it that he's a dirty evil scoundrel?  'Cause he's that too, and if that's not coming across I've got troubles.

RadarPLO: Yeah, I guess Chekov is the funniest…I didn't set out to make him funny, he did that on his own.  

Earnest: Thank you.

Ael: No, no, it was "The captain of the Enterprise is not Kirk."  I was very deliberate with that, because it put the emphasis not on Kirk and an alternate career, but on the alternate captain.  But obviously it didn't work anyway.  Ah well.  Glad you like!

Wedge: Well, naturally, taking over _Kirk's_ Enterprise wouldn't be this easy.  But this is _Lowell's_ Enterprise, and the most challenging thing this crew has done is ferry ambassadors. : )

Mzsnaz: Yeah, I liked that line.  No sugar, got it.  But here's more.  Or there it was, guess you've already read it.

Emp: I liked that line also…: )

Broken Infinity: Witty?  Really?  Cool.

I-am-bug: No, not very intelligent.  But that's okay.  Flattery is everything, lol.

Silverfang: See, it's when they root for the villain that I worry that he's not villainous enough.  Or do you just go for villains?  And I suppose it _is_ true, he is cooler.

Whatshername: Thank You!  _Someone_ was disturbed by Kirk shooting Spock!  Kirkish.   It is an UGGH word, but I'm glad you said it.  If he still seems like Kirk, just a Kirk-gone-bad, then I'm succeeding.  : )

Samantha Quinn: That's okay, that chapter _was_ funnier.  Lol, I'm glad I'm making good use of Chekov.  _All_ the minor characters were pretty underused on Trek, weren't they?

Kiri: I'm going to be thoroughly cryptic and confusing.  Regarding Kirk dropping out of Starfleet Academy, in one way you're right.  But in another way, you couldn't be wronger.  More wrong.  Whatever.  It will all become clear with another flashback, in a few more chapters.

Beedrill:  Yes, Gray is chief of security in Trekkie Soul.  As far as I know he was never on TOS though, and is instead the creation of Whatshername's twisted mind.

Tis all.  Leave a review at the door please.  Oh yeah, and the summary will become a lot more relavant next chapter.  In the meantime…reviews are life.


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: The _Enterprise_ and all personnel belong to Paramount, except Lowell who is mine.  Kirk is also Paramount's, and so is Harry Mudd.  The other Sharks belong to me.  Gray, who I don't think is in this chapter but who will be in the future, belongs to Whatshername.  Everybody clear now?

Well, you already heard the spiel about junior year if you read "Trekkie Soul" so I'll just reiterate that I'm overworked as an excuse for not posting and leave it at that.  And we can all be happy now, because they eased up a bit today and I finally have some time to post!  Twice over!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Neither Kirk, Harry nor O'Riley stayed on the bridge for the rest of the day.  O'Riley left first.  He came for reasons unknown, left for reasons unknown, went to places unknown.  Kirk didn't worry about it.  Unlike Carl, he doubted O'Riley would go off and kill anyone.

Harry hung around a while longer, leaning on the command chair and chatting with Kirk.  He eventually tried to make a pass at Uhura, was sharply rejected, took it in a cheerful spirit, and left for greener pastures.

Kirk stayed on the bridge for some time after that.  The bridge was very quiet.  Kirk ignored the tension, if he even noticed it.  He was contemplating the unmoving starfield, and thinking.  Considering.  Planning.

"I assume engineering's at work on repairs?" Kirk asked, breaking the silence.

"I assume," Spock said dryly.

"How long are engines going to take?"

"Days.  Veeks," Chekov said at once.

Kirk grinned.  "Your determination is vaguely impressive, but I know what your information is like.  Anyone _besides_ Mr. Chekov?"

"A call to engineering would no doubt provide the desired information."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock, but a call seems rather dull and impersonal, don't you think?  Maybe I'll wander down to engineering myself."  Kirk didn't care a whit for whether a call was impersonal or not.  But he was curious.  He'd headed straight for the bridge once he could, but now that he'd been there awhile, he was curious.  What he was really after was an excuse to go exploring.  Sooner or later he'd end up in engineering.  Probably.

He stood up, took two steps towards the turbolift, when he had a thought.  "Computer…lock all bridge controls."

"Authorization?" the computer requested.

"Erickson1002."

"Locking."

"Good."  Kirk grinned at the obvious irritation of the bridge crew (except Spock, of course, who, if irritated, it wasn't obvious). "It seemed a reasonable precaution.  And I'll be changing that code, so don't get any ideas."  Without further adieu, Kirk left, leaving the bridge to Starfleet crew only.

They weren't a particularly happy crew either.  A general babble of voices with the general theme of "we've got to do something!" rose almost before the turbolift doors shut on Kirk.  Spock's was the only calm one, and it cut through the others.

"Obviously, something has to be done.  But haste and carelessness will profit nothing.  If something is to be done, it will require a certain amount of thought and planning…"

*  *  *

Meanwhile, things were calming down in Sickbay.  Anyone with severe injuries had been taken care of, and even the numbers of people with minor injuries were shrinking.  So far, the pirates had had no direct effect in Sickbay.

That was about to change.

The doors swished open, and Kirk strolled in. Only one person near the door, a nurse with her back to it.  Everyone else, of the few people still in Sickbay, were busy with other things and not paying attention to the entrance.

"Be with you in a minute."  The nurse near the door turned, and her eyes widened.  "Dr. McCoy!"

McCoy was at the far end of Sickbay, busy with a security officer with a broken arm.  "What is it?  I'm kind of occupied here…"  He trailed off as he turned and caught sight of Kirk.  The nurse's eyes had widened.  McCoy's narrowed.  "Get out," he said flatly, crossing the room at an even pace to stop in front of Kirk.

Kirk smiled, reasonably pleasantly.  "Hello.  I'm Jim Kirk.  I'm on something of a self-guided tour, thought I'd drop by.  You must be the chief medical officer."

"Yes, and unless you have a medical problem _get out_ of my Sickbay," McCoy ordered.

"Hardly a friendly reception," Kirk observed.  Not as pleasantly.

"I don't need you coming in here and upsetting my nurses and disturbing my patients.  Now leave."

"Don't push me," Kirk warned.  Not pleasantly at all.

"I'll push you any way I want, and right now it's going to be straight out that door."

McCoy took a step forward on that line.  Kirk had his phaser in his hand and aimed at McCoy's chest within a second and a half.  "Go ahead," he said quietly.  "Try me."

The two men locked gazes for a long, long moment.  Hazel eyes into blue eyes, each matched in determination, neither backing down.  Tension stretched between them like a tangible presence as the moment lingered, lengthened and grew taut, like a crackle of lightning suspended between the two gazes.  Breaths were held all around the room.

It was McCoy who broke it.  Not to back down.  More as though he'd seen something and knew there wasn't a battle worth fighting here.  He shook his head slowly, almost smiling, almost a little contemptuous.  "You're not going to kill me."

"Are you sure?" Kirk challenged immediately.

"Yes," McCoy said.  "I've no doubt you might kill someone.  I've no doubt you probably _have_ killed someone.  But you're not going to kill me just because I tell you to leave.  If you were that bloodthirsty, someone would be dead already."

Kirk remained in position, expression grim, for a heartbeat longer.  Only a heartbeat though.  Then a grin spread across his face.  He clipped the phaser back onto his belt, chuckling.  "Y'know," he told McCoy, "I kinda like you.  You've got nerve."

"Well that just makes my day.  Now leave," McCoy said coldly.

Kirk might have left before.  Sickbays of any sort usually bored him.  But now he was interested.  "Nah, I think I'll stick around for a while.  That going to bother you?"

"Yes.  But I don't have time for this.  Leave or stay, it doesn't matter, just leave my staff and patients alone."  With that McCoy turned his back on Kirk and went back to the security officer.

No one else was able to tear their gaze away from Kirk quite that easily, but within moments they did all manage to go back to their work and ignore the pirate in their midst.  Kirk shrugged, grinned, and took a stroll around Sickbay.  The fact remained though, Sickbays bored him.  So he ended up watching McCoy, who continued pretending he didn't exist.

"You do that well," Kirk commented.

"It's my job," McCoy said flatly.

Kirk felt possessed of a desire to tease the good doctor a bit.  "Always had the impression doctors on starships did more exciting things than fix broken bones," Kirk said idly.

"You missed it.  That was an hour ago.  Blood, burns, surgeries, very exciting," McCoy said without inflection.

"Sounds thrilling."

McCoy glared at him and didn't answer.

Kirk was unperturbed.  "Fix broken bones often?" he asked.

"Seventh one today," McCoy said without looking up.

"That's fairly often," Kirk agreed.

McCoy gave him a look of absolute disinterest and went on with his work.

"Speaking of bones," Kirk said idly, "I knew a man nicknamed Bones once."

"Really," McCoy said dryly.

"Mm-hmm.  Except he didn't fix them.  He broke them."

"Sounds like a pleasant person."

"I've known worse."

McCoy ignored that.  He closed up his scanner and set down the hypo.  "You can consider yourself healed, Ensign," he told the security officer.

The ensign tried his arm and found that McCoy was right.  "Thanks, Doctor."  He slid off the biobed, shot Kirk a look half nervous and half angry, and left Sickbay.

"Fast work," Kirk commented.

"Long practice," McCoy said, picking up his instruments to put away in the cabinet above.

Kirk grinned a little wickedly.  "Maybe I should call _you_ Bones, you're at least as efficient as the other Bones I knew."

The cabinet closed and latched with a snap.  "It's McCoy," he said shortly.  "_Doctor McCoy_."  

"I don't know, I think Bones has a better ring to it."

McCoy gave him an exasperated look.  "Why don't you just _leave_?"

"All right, all right, I know where I'm not wanted."  Kirk flipped up the collar of his leather jacket, and headed for the exit.

"_Good-bye_," was what McCoy said.  His tone said "good riddance."

Kirk paused at the door, looked back with a grin.  "I'll be back…Bones."

Thank you all for chiming in that Kirk is a scoundrel…haven't written a serious fic before and I'm far more nervous about this one than the funny one.  But I'm reassured now, thank you.

Oh, and about the flashback, I dunno how clear I was about that.  The flashbacks are a long-range plan.  I started at the very beginning, obviously, but they're going to continue chronologically, so there will be more along the lines of how he became a pirate.  Not immediately.  But in a few chapters.

Broken Infinity: Yay, I managed witty and cute! lol

Samantha: "Conniving, double-crossing, untrustworthy version of our Kirk…"  Okay, I'm satisfied with that.  He doesn't really have to be evil, just a bit rotten.  And disillusioned, yes.

Emp: It's not quickly, I know, but it is continuing!  Slowly but surely!

Nenya: I love "I, Mudd," and I love "Journey to Babel."  Two truly excellent episodes, for all the reasons you mentioned!  And if you can't think of ways for the crew to get around Kirk, we're doing good…I certainly had to think hard enough to get it that way.

Bug the Vulcan: Wait…are you I-am-bug?  [checks bio] Yes, you are.  Now that I have that straight…see above regarding flashbacks.  Kirk-to-pirate is coming, I promise!

Whatshername: lol, I hoped itty-bitty Kirk would be cute…that's why I _wrote_ that scene, 'cause I thought it was cute!  And I LOVE that movie!

Aura: I figured, Kirk's in with a lot of scoundrels, who else was a scoundrel on Star Trek?  Harry!  Lol, Gary Mitchell might come up…and then again, he might not.

Mzsnaz: Y'know, it took me a minute to remember what the Harry reference was.  I assume you meant in the shuttlebay.  And I don't really anticipate Stella…he might talk about her though, we'll see.

Kiri: Okay, I posted Trekkie Soul and now I'm posting this.  And sooner than this weekend too!

Unrealistic: Funny, my writing inspirations come at night too…and then rarely hang around in the morning.  My belief is, when the muse knocks you have to answer, because if you ignore her she might not come back.

Ael: It's funny, I'd never heard the "Pirates who don't do anything" song, and then just the other day one of my friends was singing it…funny world.

RadarPLO: Insanity is healthy.  Although I don't really think of this one as one of my insane stories…

Silverfang: Nah, it doesn't make you bad…judging by reviews rooting for villains is quite normal.

Wedge: Important Trek episodes!  Amok Time, Journey to Babel, City on the Edge of Forever, Trouble with Tribbles, the list goes on…

One down!  One more to post!  Don't forget to review!  No prob if you wait 'til the next chap, though if I get no comments on the McCoy-Kirk convo I'll be very disappointed.  (hint, hint.  Lol)  Onward!  Posting!


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: Everyone who held copyrights last chapter still holds them.

Another chapter, and another surprise character…

CHAPTER NINE

Kirk did eventually get to Engineering.  Wandered his way from Sickbay onward, stopping here and there along the way, but finally ending up in Engineering.

Engineering was something of the reverse of Sickbay.  Where Sickbay was finishing its business and calming into normalcy, Engineering was still at the height of activity.  Engineers scurrying in all directions, apparently knowing where they were going though to Kirk all pattern was lost.  Engineers running everywhere, carrying everything.  It was a good two minutes before anyone even noticed Kirk.  Finally one engineer saw him and stopped, to be bumped into by the engineer behind him.  Then one after another after another stopped walking and started looking at Kirk.

Far from uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Kirk grinned and probably would have made a sweeping bow had there not been a distraction just then.  Specifically in the form of an echoing voice with a distinct Scottish burr from within a Jeffries Tube, demanding, "Why's everyone stoppin', you've got work to do!"  On not receiving a response he slid out of the tube and landed on his feet on the engine room floor.  He surveyed the room and when his eyes lit on Kirk a darker expression came into them.  "Get out."

"Funny, I keep getting that reaction.  Do you think it's the jacket?"

"We've got work to do, and e'en if we didn't you've got no business in me engine room."

"Actually, that's exactly what I'm here about.  How are the engines?"

"I'll not be tellin' a bloody pirate about 'em."

"Hey, I'm not just any bloody pirate!  I'm Jim Kirk!"

A faintly puzzled expression crossed Mr. Scott's face.  "Jim Kirk?"  They all knew the moment he recognized the name.  His expression changed and he inhaled sharply.  "Yer the leader."

"Guilty," Kirk agreed.

"Yer the one to blame."

"Possibly," Kirk said with more caution.  Admit nothing unless you know what you're admitting, and maybe not even then.

Scott was calm, but it was a deadly sort of calm.  "Yer the one who harmed me lass."

It was Kirk's turn to be puzzled.  "I don't think so."

"And me bairns."  Scott shook his head sadly.  "Me poor bairns."

"Okay, you lost me," Kirk said bluntly.  "I don't go around killing women and children.  I can't vouch for my entire gang, but not me.  Accuse me of killing your brother and you might have a case, but not women and kids."

Scott gave him an almost contemptuous look.  "I'm talkin' about me _ship_."

"Ohh, I get it!"  Kirk grinned.  "You're devoted to the _ship_."  He actually had to concentrate to stop himself from backing up a step before Scott's expression.

"I know about yer programs and yer self-destruct sequences, and I know better'n to kill ye."  A pause.  "But if ye don't get out, I might start to forget."

Kirk shrugged.  "Okay, I get the picture.  Just tell me how long you're going to take to repair the engines."

Scott gave him a long considering look, then told what Kirk could only assume was the truth based on the number sounding right.  "Thirty-six hours."

"Good," was all Kirk said as he turned and headed for the door.  He exited into the corridor, then looked back, putting a hand on the doorframe to stop the doors from shutting.  "And by the way, I don't blame you at all.  She's a beautiful ship.  Good luck with those repairs."

And then he moved his hand and the doors slid shut, leaving some faintly surprised engineers looking at a closed door.

*  *  *

As Kirk wandered through the corridors, more or less en route to the bridge, he was in a good mood.  The galaxy was his and all was right within it.

That was about to change.

"Jimmy?  Jimmy Kirk?" a voice boomed down the corridor.

Kirk recognized it immediately and it took him back fifteen years.  Not happily either.  He turned to confront the speaker.  "Finnegan."

It was.  Fifteen years older, but otherwise unchanged.  Right down to the mocking grin.  [A/N: If you don't know Finnegan, he was in _Shore Leave_.  Essentially the bullying upperclassman at Starfleet Academy.  Which I say in another line anyway.]  

"Jimmy Kirk.  Never thought I'd see you again."

He was not a first-year cadet, and Finnegan was not the bullying upperclassman.  He was a pirate.  "It's Jim.  Or better, Kirk.  We're not on a first-name basis."

"Still so high and mighty," Finnegan sneered.  "The great James T. Kirk.  Fought any Klingons yet, hero?"

"Maybe."

Finnegan snorted.  "Right."  He looked Kirk over.  "A pirate, eh?  Figures.  Never did think an Iowa farm boy would make captain."

 "And you're more likely?  Taking your time, aren't you, _Lieutenant_?"

Finengan's face flamed.  "At least I'm not a _criminal_.  Always knew you were trouble.  But I guess we all found _that_ out.  Fifteen years ago."

Kirk didn't respond immediately, fighting a battle within himself.  Finally, though it cost him, he managed a careless shrug.  "I have better things to do than talk to you."  His footsteps echoed as he walked away.

Finnegan didn't appreciate having an opponent walk away from him.  "You think I don't know what's _really_ eating at you?" he shouted after him.

Kirk stopped walking.

Finnegan went on, words laced and dripping with contempt.  "It's _killing_ you that I'm the one in the gold shirt…and you're not."

In one moment, one movement, Kirk drew, turned and fired.  The red beam lanced out and struck.  "No, Finnegan," Kirk said quietly.  "It's killing you."

Then he turned and walked away.

Chapter ten hopefully fairly soon.


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.  Nothing.  Well…I own the Sharks.  But I don't own Kirk, I don't own Harry, I don't own the Starfleet crew, I don't even own the song.  Yes.  There's a song.  Read on.

A lovely new chapter!  Comic relief (partially), after our grim last chapter.  My love of Pirates of the Caribbean finally slips itself in…

CHAPTER TEN

McCoy came into the Mess Hall sometime around eleven pm.  He'd heard that…something was going on.  Something was definitely going on.  Mr. Spock often objected to the noise level in the Mess Hall.  The usual noise level was nothing compared to what was going on now.

At three or four tables was a group of fifteen or twenty Sharks.  It didn't take any medical expertise to realize that they had found a way to get alcoholic beverages out of the replicators.  Or that they had made full use of that way.  Empty bottles littered the tabletops and floor around them.  Five of the pirates were already sound asleep, heads sunk down onto the top of the table, as often as not resting in a puddle of alcohol.  This number did not include their valiant leader.  Kirk was leaning back in his chair in the center of the group, legs stretched out, feet up on the table, arms crossed over his chest.  His jacket collar was turned up, and a somewhat battered hat covered his face.  To all appearances he was dead to the world.  The other pirates were not so quiet.  They were following the time-honored tradition of singing bawdy songs at the top of their lungs.

There were a few Starfleet officers in the room.  Most were attempting to eat their dinners and ignore the Sharks.  With one exception.  McCoy headed straight for the exception.

Spock was sitting at an empty table that had a good view of the pirates.  His expression was one of mild interest, his hands steepled on the table in front of him.  McCoy planted himself directly in the Vulcan's line of vision.

"Aren't you going to do _anything_?" McCoy demanded.

"What do you believe I should be doing?"  Spock's voice was raised slightly to be heard over the singing.  Otherwise, his tone was absolutely calm.  It always was.

McCoy scowled at him.  "I don't like it, but the fact of the matter is, _you're_ in command.  And you're going to just sit there and let them drink and sing and—why don't you call security?"

"They are armed.  We are not."

"They're _drunk_!"

"Drunken men are often irrational and violent.  In even greater degrees than normal."

McCoy didn't miss the subtle point about the usual violence and irrationality of humans.  It didn't improve his mood.  "So you're going to just sit here and do nothing?"

"I am going to sit here and watch.  There is a difference."

"_Sure_ there is," McCoy said sarcastically.

He didn't give Spock a chance to come back with anything from that, but went over to the replicators and ordered a cup of coffee.  Spock had not invited McCoy to join his table.  McCoy didn't.  He did take up a seat elsewhere, to do a little watching of his own.

*  *  *

An hour later, things were winding down.  Most of the pirates were asleep, either on the table, in the chairs, or, in a few cases, on the floor.  Somehow, the noise level hadn't dropped much.

"Yo ho, yo ho!  A pirate's life for me!" Carl sang loudly.  The term 'sang' being used loosely.  "We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves!  Drink up me 'earties, _yo ho_!"  He paused to try to remember the next line.

Harry raised his head off the table and looked at him blearily.  "That's the third time you've sung that."

"I like it."

"I don't."

Carl took a certain amount of offense to that.  He started to get out of his chair.  He made it half way up, lost his balance, and fell back into his seat.  He shrugged, was too drunk to stay mad, and went back to singing.  "We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack!  Drink up me 'earties, _yo ho_!"

Harry groaned.  Without lifting his head he sorted through the bottles scattered near him until he found one that was still mostly full.  Grasping it, he got to his feet, with an effort.  He was slightly less drunk than Carl in that he managed to stay upright, and even to stagger his way out the door of the Mess Hall, still clutching the bottle.

Carl didn't notice.  "Maraud and embezzle and even hijack!  Drink up…uh…drink up…"  He abandoned the line.  "Yo ho, yo ho…a pirate's…life…for…"  His head slowly sunk forward and finally hit the tabletop.  The noise level dropped considerably.  Despite the volume of his snores, it was quieter than his singing.

The Mess Hall was almost empty by now.  Spock hadn't left yet.  McCoy, in a fierce determination that Spock wasn't going to outlast him, was still present as well.  Whether Spock was still there for a similar reason is possible, but far more difficult to tell.  In any case, it was pretty much down to them and the pirates.

McCoy viewed the drunken, unconscious Sharks with undisguised contempt.  "Pathetic.  Completely pathetic."

"They are certainly not the most choice examples of your species."

Had McCoy thought about it, he would have realized that this was very possibly the closest thing to an agreement he'd had from Spock in six months.  He didn't think about it though, as he was distracted from Spock's comment by a comment from the middle of the pirates.

"Is the party over already?"  Jim Kirk lifted the brim of his hat and looked at the snoring pirates around him.  "Just as well.  They can't sing anyway."

In one fluid movement Kirk swung his legs down and rose to his feet.  He kicked a bottle out of his way, stepped over Tony, and came around the table.  He tipped his hat to Spock and McCoy, set it at a rakish tilt, and strolled towards the door.

McCoy looked from Kirk to the pirates and back again.  "Aren't you going to do something?"

Kirk stopped halfway to the door and glanced at McCoy.  "Yeah.  I'm going to go find a bed and sleep.  Got any empty quarters?  They're probably bigger than any rooms on my ship."

"About the Sharks, I mean, aren't you going to do something about them?"

Kirk barely tossed them a look.  "Why?  They've passed out in more dangerous places than this.  They'll be alright in the morning."  He gave McCoy and Spock a longer look.  "Y'know, it seems kind of silly, an empty Mess Hall and you sit at different tables," he said idly.

Spock and McCoy glanced at each other.  "Why would we necessarily sit together?" Spock asked.

"Strength in numbers?  I dunno, just a thought."  He was at the door before he had another one.  "And if you're thinking about hostages…well, don't think about hostages."

"But if we _were_ to take your unconscious crewmembers as hostages?" Spock pressed.

Kirk shrugged carelessly.  "Then I guess I'd be getting myself a new gang next time I drop by Rigel."  The door hissed shut on any reply Spock or McCoy might have felt inclined to make.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Beedrill: Yay!  I've achieved jaw-dropping!  LOL.  And you obviously have a good grasp of the Kirk-McCoy situation.  I'm glad, that's what I was going for.  And as for scheming…next chapter!  And you seem to have a grasp of the young-Kirk to older-Kirk situation too…[sighs contentedly] I _love_ it when people understand what I'm trying to say. 

Nenya: Yes…the whole galaxy is a little bit twisted in this universe.  And the ensign very well might have been Jones, but I figured if I said it was him, everybody would be delighted about Jones and not pay any attention at all to Kirk and McCoy, lol.

Emp: Wow…I see you're _not_ a fan of Finnegan… 

Samantha: S'okay if you thought the Kirk-Scotty scene was funny, it was supposed to be more light-hearted.  Gary Mitchell might turn up, haven't decided…have I said that already?  Maybe.  And as to the phaser being on kill…now that's an interesting question, isn't it?  And regarding Captain Lowell, more on him next chapter.

RadarPLO: Enthusiasm!  I love it!  And…did he kill someone?  Or did he not?  Mysterious, isn't it?

Unrealistic: Of course it's convenient that Lowell's unconscious and Spock's in command.  I wrote it that way.  Because, really, who would be more interesting to have in command?

Wedge: Yes!  Vanquished lingering doubts about Kirk's evilness!  That was the goal, y'know.  If shooting Finnegan hadn't worked, I might have had to have him slap Uhura or something…but we can avoid that scene now.  And of course McCoy couldn't not be Bones!

Bug the Hobbit: Well…I'm writing more!  And I may write more serious ones…I didn't realize how fun they are until I started this one.  But comedies are fun too.

Silverfang: I gotta ask…what is the BO-YAKA?  My friends say Boo-yah sometimes, but I'm lost Bo-yaka…

Whatshername: [points at last line of review] It's the ghost of Keridwen, back to tell me about the goodness of cheese!  Wow…

I think that's all…onwards!  Much more planned for the next few chapters…some seriousness, more comic relief, another flashback, and…oh yeah.  Some actual _plot advancement!_  But that's all to come.  In the meantime, review please!


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimers are overrated.

Another chapter!  I'm happy, I hope you are too.  And it's fairly long too… : )

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Considering how most of them had spent the evening, it seemed very unlikely that the pirates would be up early the next morning.  Which is why Spock called a meeting at six a.m.  As should be obvious, the ship was in a lot of trouble.  As should also be obvious, something needed to be done.  Hence the meeting.

At the early hour of six, in the somewhat cramped and dim lit storeroom on deck seven—aesthetics aside, the need for security made it a better place to meet than the briefing room—the bridge crew and department heads were gathered.  The bridge crew were natural ones to invite; from the looks of things, they'd be spending the most time around Mr. Kirk.  Lt. Commander Gray was necessarily present as chief of security, and Mr. Scott was needed to report on the progress of repairs.  Spock privately would have preferred to leave the group at that number.  There was, however, one more person.  Dr. McCoy was the final member of the senior crew, and, in addition, it seemed that Kirk might be drifting through Sickbay on occasion.  Therefore, whether Spock was pleased by it or not, it was logical to include Dr. McCoy.

The trouble was, as the entire ship knew, putting Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy together was never wise.

The meeting began calmly, if abruptly.  Spock felt no need for social pleasantries or small talk or even an opening statement to ease into the business at hand, and dispensed with all of them.  As soon as the last member arrived, he began.  "The situation, as we all know, is, at the least, dire.  However, hysteria and disorder will accomplish nothing, and therefore I would prefer to proceed in orderly fashion as though this were a routine meeting.  First, let us begin with status reports form each department.  Communications?"

"I'm still locked out of intership communications," Uhura said unhappily from her position seated on a box opposite Spock.  "The intercom is open, but contacting Command or another ship isn't an option right now."

"That is unfortunate, but cannot be helped right now.  Engineering: how are the repairs progressing?  I believe the estimate was for 36 hours to completion, counting from 1500 hours yesterday."

"Aye, it was, but the new estimate is for this afternoon."  Scott frowned.  "That is, if we want engines repaired.  No tellin' where our fine Mr. Kirk will decide to go."

Spock steepled his hands.  "That is a matter to consider, which gives us two alternatives: To repair, or not to.  If you repair the engines, Mr. Kirk will indeed become mobile.  If you refuse to make the repairs, I have no doubt that he will threaten and rail and possibly kill large sections of the engineering crew, at which point we will still have the same alternatives.  If you continue refusing to repair, he will most probably bring in his own crew, who I believe would be just as likely to blow up the engines as to repair them.  If they do succeed, Mr. Kirk will, again, become mobile.  Therefore there is no practical advantage and great disadvantage in not continuing with repairs."

"You couldn't find a shorter way to say all that?" McCoy asked.

"Doctor, I have not yet requested a report from Medical, please restrain yourself until I do," Spock said icily, in a tone not dissimilar to the one he had used towards Chekov in the shuttlebay the previous day.  He turned towards Lt. Cmdr. Gray.  "Security report, please."

Gray sighed, looking harried.  The shadows may have accounted for some of the hollows under his eyes, but not all of them.  "It's a mess, to put it simply.  Lots to secure, no way to secure it.  We're completely unarmed.  Haven't got so much as a phaser hidden under a mattress, and every armory is sealed up tight.  We're not bad at hand-to-hand combat, but hand-to-phaser is usually somewhat ineffective."

"Understood.  Medical?"

McCoy was still smarting from the earlier dismissal he had received.  "You're _sure_ you want me to talk?" he asked sarcastically.

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "I have requested a report from the medical department.  You are the chief medical officer.  Therefore it follows—"

"All right, all right," McCoy grumbled.  "Of the twenty injured, we've got twelve back at their posts, six more should be in a few days.  Of the twelve critical, we've been able to move four off that list, though they'll be recovering for quite a while.  Regrettably, we lost three, which brings the death count up to nineteen."

"I see.  And how is Captain Lowell?"

McCoy searched into his memory the way he might search through a database to find the required file.  "Coma.  He's suffering from an injury to the lower cranium, and I don't have the right equipment to treat it.  I need a—well, never mind _what_ I need, it's complicated, but it's big and bulky and starbases have them and starships don't.  Once we pull into a starbase I can have him up and about in a matter of days.  In the meantime, though, he's not going to be much help in the present problem."

"And there we come to the matter at hand," Spock observed.

Things became less organized, more heated, and far more protracted from there, but far less definite conclusions were reached.  In the end, they were just about in the same spot as they were in the beginning.  It would not be easy but certainly not impossible to retake the ship.  The trouble was, what then?  The computer was still answering Kirk's codes, and still required Kirk to tell it not to blow up.  If they had those codes…then it would be a different story.

"He must have a pattern," Spock said thoughtfully.

"Why?" McCoy asked dourly.  "I don't think he worries much about what he must and mustn't do."

"He must, for the simple limitation of memory.  There are multiple functions of the ship he is keeping in control, and we know that he has been changing his codes.  Therefore he must be keeping track of potentially dozens of codes," Spock said patiently.  "It is highly unlikely that a human could keep in order dozens of unrelated words and numbers."

Only McCoy read anything into Spock's phrasing that a human couldn't.  "But a Vulcan could."

"Yes.  But Mr. Kirk is not Vulcan, and therefore that issue becomes irrelevant.  Therefore searching for a pattern becomes logical.  What codes have we heard him use?"

"Erickson1002 locked bridge controls," Sulu offered.  "He's changed it by now though."

"It still may be instrumental in determining a pattern," Spock said.  "Comments, anyone?"

Chekov shrugged.  "A name and a number."

"Indeed.  Other codes?"

"I heard him lock the armory," Gray volunteered.  "Not very useful since we want to unlock it, but the code was Polo1275."

Chekov shrugged again.  "A sport and a number.  It is a Russian sport," he explained.  The others present were doubtful about that, but didn't argue.

"Any others?" Spock asked.

"Yeah…" McCoy said slowly, thinking.  "I was in the turbolift yesterday.  The doors opened and right about then I remembered that I needed something in Sickbay.  Anyway, Kirk was in the corridor.  He was locking a door or something.  This was after he breezed through my Sickbay, so I knew I didn't want to talk to him, so I shut the door and kept going.  I did hear the code though…or most of it.  Lewis18…"  He frowned.  "18-something.  I missed the last bit."

Had Spock been human, this would have been the moment when he became angry and yelled, scowled, glowered, etc.  But of course, Spock is not human and consequently he did none of these things.  Instead it was merely a look of mild irritation that crossed his face.  "That 'something' may be important, Doctor," he said sharply.

"Look, I'm sorry, if I'd known it was important I'd have tried to hear it," McCoy snapped.

Everyone else settled back in grim resignation.  Usually Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy treated each other with bare civility when necessary and avoided each other whenever possible, but every so often they started off on something like this, and no one had yet had any luck stopping them once they started.

"As the source of Mr. Kirk's control of this ship is those codes, you should have deduced that the code was important."

"I was thinking of other things," McCoy said defensively.

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Surely you are capable of thinking of multiple things at one time."  Something very understated but present in his tone suggested that perhaps, after all, the Doctor couldn't.

That's certainly what McCoy heard anyway, and he came back with fire.  "I wasn't exactly going to stand there and work out _logically_ all the detailed reasons of why I should care how Kirk locks his doors!  No one _thinks_ that way.  No one but _Vulcans_, and I'm not Vulcan!  I'm just a poor unfortunate human!"

"_Thank you_, Doctor," Spock said coldly, "I am aware of your species."

"You could have fooled me," McCoy flared, "you hold everyone to your blasted Vulcan standards!"

Spock's tone was subtly but undeniably mocking.  "Would you prefer that I treat you as irrational, unstable, incapable of reasonable judgment?"

"I—no—"  McCoy's mouth snapped shut and he glared at Spock with an expression of unmitigated dislike.  "Oh why don't you shut up?" he asked sourly.

"That would be a dereliction of duty, as I am attempting to conduct a meeting," Spock said flatly.

"And I'm impeding your attempt?  My humblest apologies.  By all means, continue, it's FAScinating," McCoy said with biting sarcasm.

Spock ignored his tone and continued.  The rest of the meeting was in fact relatively uneventful.  They concluded that "Lewis18-something" was another name, another number, and other than that, no further conclusions.  The only pattern was that every code had numbers, which wasn't much of a pattern.

Which put them in about the same position Spock had taken up in the Mess Hall.  Drastic action was not yet called for, and therefore there was nothing to do but wait and watch, and see what information they could get out of the pirates in the meantime.

*  *  *

The rest of the day passed under a flag of uneasy peace.  Kirk arrived on the bridge at nine with no sign of a hangover and took up residence in the center chair.  With the exception of a short period around noon, he didn't move for the rest of the day.  None of the bridge crew could understand what was so interesting about staring at the bridge and the viewscreen, apparently deep in thought, for hours on end, but Kirk seemed content.  Bridge controls had been unlocked sometime yesterday, and the bridge crew occupied themselves at their own stations.  Spock spent the time on matters of scientific research at his console.  He did not run a search on Erickson, Polo or Lewis; he would not be at all surprised to find that Kirk was keeping an eye on computer searches of that nature, and he was unwilling to…well, the only phrase for it is "tip his hand," though that isn't a phrase Spock would use.  Chekov and Sulu employed their old tactic of sending messages.  For a while in the early afternoon, the atmosphere on the bridge wasn't very different from when Lowell sat in the chair.

At two-thirty, the comm unit buzzed.  "Scott to bridge."

Kirk flipped the comm switch on the arm of the chair.  "Kirk here.  How are the engines, Mr. Scott?"

"Operational," Scott said shortly.  "Ready when ye want 'em."

"Thought the estimate was for later tonight."

"Aye it was," Scott agreed, "but it's a poor engineer who can't work faster than his own estimate."

"I can definitely say that I have a new appreciation for Starfleet engineers," Kirk said sincerely.  "Bridge out."  He thought for a moment, then said, "Mr. Chekov, plot a course."

"Heading?" Chekov said promptly and automatically.  He regretted it immediately after, but for the split second it had taken for his mind to connect and his mouth to speak, it had seemed the most natural thing in the galaxy to respond just as though Kirk had some legitimate authority.

"5.91 mark 7," Kirk said briskly.

Chekov started to lay the heading, then hesitated as he realized where that would take them.  "But that vill put us in the Romulan Empire!"

"Thank you, I knew that.  Plot the course, please."

"I vill not!"

Kirk sighed.  "If you cooperated, Mr. Chekov, things would be much easier for both of us."

"I vill not plot a course for Romulus!"

"You won't so I will, and somewhere in between I'll stun you.  Now what will that accomplish for either of us?"  Kirk shrugged.  "Unless you count some benefit to your honor."

Chekov blinked.  "You say that as though you think honor is inconsequential."

Kirk leaned forward in the chair.  "I'll let you in on a little secret.  I say that as though I think honor is inconsequential because I think honor is inconsequential.  Now are we setting the course or aren't we?"

"Ve aren't," Chekov said stubbornly.

Kirk shrugged again, and swiveled the chair a bit towards the back.  "You want to talk to him?" he asked Spock.  "He's not being logical."

"No," Spock acknowledged, "he is not."

Chekov glared at him.  At both of them.

"He is also not acting unpredictably, or even unreasonably, though also not logically.  At this point in time I see no advantage in a resistance movement.  As it will take approximately 7.246 days at warp six to reach the border of the Romulan Empire, now is clearly not the time to object, as it will accomplish nothing and there is sufficient time in the future for objections.  Therefore cooperating is the logical step."  His piece said, Spock turned back to his console.

Kirk gave Chekov a look that very clearly said "your move."

Chekov glared at him, but turned to his board.  "Course laid in," he said grudgingly.

"Very good," Kirk said.  "Mr. Sulu…"  He paused.  "Are we going to have another argument?"

"No," Sulu said, and shrugged.  "No advantage."

"Excellent.  Mr. Sulu, warp factor six."

"Warp six, aye."

"Engage."

And why are we going to the Romulan Empire?  That's something that you (and McCoy, incidentally) will be finding out next chapter.  Which should be up fairly soon.

Jend: Captain Kirk, mixed with Captain Sparrow…honestly had not looked at it that way.  Especially as I started this story months before seeing POTC…though I do see the resemblance now that you point it out.

Emp: Had FF paid yet, lol?

Solidchristian-88: Yay!  I've achieved believable!  That's the hardest part about this…changing the characters yet keeping them as the real characters.

Vest-Button: [falls over] Wow!  Someone who actually isn't going to bug me about updating!  Thank you for your understanding.  [kicks history book]

Bug: Well…here is (was) the next chapter…which I suppose leaves you to wait for the next.  Vicious cycle, isn't it?

Njong: Finnegan is actually canon.  He's from "Shore Leave," a somewhat random Star Trek episode.  Very good.  And as for "Kirk casually splattering that freak's atoms all over the walls," that is a much more violent image than I ever pictured for that scene…although, come to think of it, my mental camera angle doesn't even show Finnegan, it's exclusively centered on Kirk.  Hmm.

Mzsnaz: Gah!  You haven't seen Pirates!  DVD comes out tomorrow (December 2nd)!  Go!  Rent!

Whatshername: I love character development too.  And plot development has its points…though this chapter was pretty much all the plot advancement that will be happening for a while…

Silverfang: Boo yaka.  Gotcha.  Thanks, me and my friend were wondering. : )  And I can definitely report your'e not the only one to occasionally say "boo yaka" anymore.

Ael: Not having seen Indiana Jones, I'd have to say it was coincidence.  [shrug]

RadarPLO: Yep.  They're disgusting.

Wedge: You too!  You must go see Pirates!  Go!  Well…review.  Then go!

'Tis all.  More soon!


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: Talk to Berman and Braga.  Not me.

Um…I have nothing to say here.  Wow, that's a first.  Right then.  I'll just let you get on to the chapter.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Directly after setting course, Kirk dictated off a somewhat cryptic message and sent it towards Romulan space.  It read:

"To: Romulan Commander—

My ship came in.  She's a starship.  Break out the ale and watch for her on your section of the neutral zone in the next week.

—Kirk

After that event, the uneasy peace continued into the afternoon as the _Enterprise_ soared towards the Romulan Empire at warp six.  It was far more uneasy than before though.  Kirk was the recipient of looks of distrust, dislike and disapproval from three directions, and was being ignored by the fourth.  Spock was the fourth, and was occupied reading one of his endless supply of scientific articles.

After another hour of this, Kirk finally felt the first stirrings of boredom.  A mood of mild teasing seized him.  And he didn't have to go far to find someone to bug.

Kirk strolled to the back of the bridge, and looked over Spock's shoulder at his screen.  Spock shot him a look, which Kirk cheerfully ignored, as he read for a moment.

"My god, do you really read this stuff?" Kirk asked finally.

"As it is on my screen, the answer is obviously yes," Spock said dryly.

"A comparative study of the reactions of sub-atomic particles under varying forms of radiation?  Sounds fascinating."

"It is," Spock said.

"Beats me why.  Don't you ever get bored?"

"No."

"You never feel like picking up an adventure holonovel?"

"Never."

"How about a comic book?"

"Certainly not."

"What about—"

"This conversation is pointless," Spock said shortly.

Kirk grinned.  "Am I bothering you?"

Spock looked away.

"Feel kinda like pushing me out an airlock?" Kirk suggested.

"I do not believe in the taking of life.  I would, however, like to push you into the brig."

"Still think you did the right thing not killing me to begin with then?"

"Yes."

"And the negotiations?"

"They were the morally correct choice."  A pause.  "I failed, however, to take into account the low moral standards of those I was dealing with."

"Ouch," Kirk said and didn't mean it.  "Still going with the theory about how it's more logical to heal than to kill, I take it."

"The principle is unaltered."

"Y'know, I've been thinking about that," Kirk drawled.  "It's 'make love, not war,' right?"

"Essentially," Spock said cautiously.

Kirk grinned, eyes dancing mischievously.  "I get it now!  Surak was a hippie!"

"A hippie?"

"An extremist movement of the 1960s on Earth, they—"

"I am aware of the historical reference," Spock said sharply.  "While the theory may be similar on some levels, the hippies were a radical extremist group whose ideology was fraught with illogic and emotion to excess.  Surak was a great philosopher who embraced new theories of lifestyle, creating peace through logic and self-control.  He is directly responsible for ending centuries of warfare and bringing in centuries of peace.  Surak was _not_, by any definition, a _hippie_."  Spock stood up abruptly.  "Excuse me," he said, and strode off the bridge.

Kirk leaned back against the edge of the console and watched him go, an amused expression on his face.  "I think I ticked him off," he said to the bridge in general.

Chekov looked from the closed turbolift doors to Kirk, wide-eyed.  "No one ticks off Mr. Spock."

"_No one_," Sulu echoed, as Uhura nodded confirmation.

Kirk grinned at them.  "He _does_ seem somewhat unflappable."

"Somewhat doesn't do it justice," Uhura said with an amused smile.  "All the emotional range of a rock."

That brought a ripple of laughter.

"No one bugs him," Chekov repeated, then reconsidered.  "Vell…except Dr. McCoy, sometimes."

Sulu murmured agreement, but Uhura didn't jump on that bandwagon as quickly.  "True, but he gets so upset doing it that it hardly counts."

"Yeah, Mr. Spock always bothers Dr. McCoy more than Dr. McCoy bothers Mr. Spock," Sulu mused, an accurate if somewhat convoluted statement.

"Guess it's easier for a pirate."

It was the wrong thing for Kirk to say.  He might just as well have slammed a door shut between himself and the Starfleet crew.  Their faces hardened and the brief moment of fellowship ended.  They returned their attention to their stations, turning their backs on Kirk, who shrugged his unconcern.  He couldn't have been quite as unconcerned as he acted though, as he left the bridge himself less than ten minutes later.

*  *  *

McCoy was not exactly overjoyed when Kirk walked into his Sickbay.  He folded his arms over his chest and gave Kirk a rather unfriendly look.  The rest of Sickbay looked on with covert interest.

"Are you back again?" McCoy snapped.

Kirk very carefully maintained a perfectly straight face, and raised one eyebrow.  "As it should be eminently clear that I am present in Sickbay, your question is not logical, Doctor."  Kirk's teasing mood had not passed.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Please, one Spock is enough.  _More_ than enough.  Let me rephrase.  _Why_ are you back again?"

"Boredom.  I can sit on that bridge for a long time, but after all day I get bored."

McCoy blinked.  "It took you _all day_ before you got bored?"

"So I like starship bridges," Kirk said lightly.  "So what?"

McCoy shrugged.  "So nothing."  He turned back to the counter where he'd been cataloguing supplies.  Kirk showed no particular interest in leaving, and straddled a nearby chair that was turned backwards.  "So why are you _here_?" McCoy asked.  "Why not hunt up the Sharks?"

Kirk laughed.  "Because I know what they'll be like today.  Lots are still asleep, and the ones who aren't are holding their heads and swearing they're dying.  So I figured I'd drop by and talk to you, Bones."

"It's McCoy.  Dr. McCoy."

"Yeah, I know."

McCoy gave him an irritated look and let it pass.  "So if you're doing a Spock impersonation, stay on the bridge and talk to him," he suggested, picking up a bottle of pills to check.

"I could, except he left the bridge before I did."  Kirk grinned, the grin of someone sharing a very good joke.  "He stormed off after I called Surak a hippie."

McCoy's head snapped up from the bottle of pills to stare at Kirk.  "You called _Surak_ a _hippie_?  Surak as in the great Vulcan philosopher?  As in the one Spock thinks holds the answers to all life's questions?  _That_ Surak?"

Kirk nodded, eyes dancing.  "That would be the one."

"Why didn't _I_ ever think of that?"

"Seems natural to me.  Make love, not war."

McCoy was beginning to harbor much pleasanter feelings towards Kirk.  "What'd Spock do?"

"Gave me a lecture on the accomplishments of Surak and the emotionalism of hippies, claimed they weren't at all alike, and left."

McCoy grinned.  "I love it.  Rattle the old computer a little."

"Don't get along well with him, do you?" Kirk observed, mindful of comments of the bridge crew.

"Let's just say we view the galaxy a little differently," McCoy said dryly.

"I dunno," Kirk mused.  "He strikes me as kind of a good guy.  The logic gets a bit much and don't ask me about the subcellular particles, but it took some guts to try to nervepinch me yesterday.  I think he's okay."

"But you call Surak a hippie?"

Kirk grinned.  "I only tease people I like."

"Well, you're entitled to your own opinion," McCoy said doubtfully, checking the label on another bottle.

Kirk rested his elbows on the back of the chair.  "Y'know, you've got an interesting batch of characters up on that bridge," he said idly, thinking out loud.  "There's Chekov who objects to everything I do or say just on principle, and then there's Spock who only objects if logic dictates an advantage.  Both reacted very characteristically when I set the course for the Romulan Empire."

McCoy very slowly set down the bottle of tranzanite and very slowly turned to face Kirk.  "We're going to the Romulan Empire?" he said in a low voice.  All pleasant feelings towards Jim Kirk had just died a sudden and violent death.

Kirk looked at him.  In the space of one sentence the tone of the conversation had changed, and Kirk adjusted accordingly.  At once he was more serious, more careful, and far less open.  "You hadn't heard that," he observed.

"_No_, I hadn't heard that!" McCoy snapped.  "How would I know what was going on on the bridge?" 

Sickbay in general, who had been half-listening all along, was paying close attention at this point.

Kirk shrugged.  "Always figured doctors knew everything that happened on a ship."

"I'll tell you one thing I _don't_ know, I don't know why we're going to the Romulan Empire."  That was a challenge, and they both knew it.

"I have a contact there and I have some business with him," Kirk said guardedly.

McCoy was no fool.  "You're going to _sell_ our data to the _Romulans_?"

"Close, but no."

McCoy's eyebrows shot up.  "You're not going to sell _us_?"

"Hey, I'm no slaver!" Kirk snapped, insulted.  "This is simple business!  I'm just selling your ship."

"You're _selling_ the _Enterprise_?"

Kirk nodded.  "Yes."

McCoy was outraged.  "You can't _do_ that!"

That got to Kirk a little, fresh after the slaver comment.  "Why not?" he challenged.

"Because…because…" McCoy spluttered, "because don't you know what that _means_?  Don't you know what'll _happen_ in a few years, when the Romulans incorporate our technology, and Starfleet has to—"

Kirk's eyes narrowed.  "Starfleet?  _Starfleet_?  Why should I give a _damn_ about Starfleet?" he demanded.  "They never cared anything about _me_."  Kirk stood up.  "You know what, to hell with 'em.  To hell with Starfleet, and to hell with the Federation too.  I used to think that way, that I should care about Starfleet, but I wised up.  I've got one loyalty, and that's to Jim Kirk.  The rest of the galaxy just better watch out for itself."

With that, Kirk turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving McCoy to wonder what nerve he had hit.

And now we know why it's rated PG.  Though the language isn't _too_ bad.  Anyway, while McCoy is wondering, let's move on to the next chapter and find out what nerve was hit, shall we?  We shall.  No…wait…hit "review" first!  Or just review the second one and reference both chapters, whichever works for you.  


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: If you don't like Berman and Braga, well, I don't know who to refer you to.  I think we're back at the answer to all questions.  Paramount.  No further comment.

Well, this matched up nicely.  For chapter thirteen we have the story of the worst day of Kirk's life…

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was all quite true.  There had been a time when Kirk cared a great deal about Starfleet.  There was a time when he followed Starfleet missions like most people follow sports, when he knew every starship and every starship captain.  There had been a time when he knew exactly what his future looked like, and the Starfleet symbol had been sprinkled liberally throughout.

But all that had changed.

And as Kirk strode down the corridor, he wasn't seeing the corridor or the crewmembers in it.  He was seeing a day fifteen years earlier…

What a day that had been.  And he remembered every word of it, every gesture, every expression.  You don't forget the day your dream dies.

He'd been eighteen.  A second year cadet, and more confident than was probably good for him.  An odd blend of bookworm and adventurer, with a strong dash of idealist and dreamer.  Soaking up knowledge like a Denobulan Sponge Fish, and still managing to pick up more than his share of trouble.

And then it happened.  _The_ test.  A simulated one, they had tests like that often enough.  This one, he took three times.  Voluntarily.  The first two times, his ship exploded in a great burst of smoke and flame and, in his eyes, abject failure.  And then, he had his idea.  From his current perspective, it had been an _incredibly_ stupid idea. 

He had considered it brilliance.

The test, he was positive, was rigged.  No one he asked had found a way to beat it, and he was going out of his mind looking for ideas.  There weren't any ways.  It was rigged.  Therefore, he wasn't _really_ cheating.  He was…evening the score.  Starfleet had the test slanted to make him lose, so he was going to manipulate it a little in his favor.  As a balancer.  Reasonable enough.  So he and a couple of friends snuck into one of the offices late at night, hacked into the computers, changed the programming, and slipped out, no one the wiser.  Or so they'd believed.

He took the test the next morning.  It was beautiful.  The Klingons proved uncommonly polite, and graciously listened to his excellent arguments regarding the necessity of rescuing the freighter, Neutral Zone or not.  The Klingons concluded that the needless waste of life in non-battle circumstances was not honorable (that was a perfectly reasonable thing for them to conclude, wasn't it?), and were perfectly happy to help rescue the freighter.  His classmates were astounded, and Kirk was exultant.  

And then the simulation ended.  And he turned around to face Commodore Komack, who, truth to tell, he had never gotten along with very well.  This was the first bad sign.  One of the things he had calculated into his plans was the idea that Commodore Nogura would be judging his test.  He was supposed to be.  An ill-timed meeting had pulled him out of it, and wrecked Kirk's life.

There were reasonable odds that Nogura would take it lightly.  Komack would not.

"I would like a word with you, Cadet Kirk," Komack said crisply, glowering at him.  Neither his expression nor his tone boded well.

Kirk followed mutely down the hallway, footsteps echoing in the silence.  _Great_, he told himself.  _Nice_ going, Jim!  _Komack'll_ kill you before the Klingons have the chance!

They entered the nearest conference room.  A sparse room, with a long gray table.

"Sit," Komack ordered.

Kirk sat, though he felt more like bolting.

"I bet you think you're pretty clever, Cadet," Komack snapped.

"Sir?"  Kirk tried hard to look puzzled.

"We suspected someone had gotten into the computer last night.  Very foolish of you to alter a program that would clearly finger you as the involved party."

Kirk considered another denial, and decided there wasn't any use in it.  He remained silent.

"Of course, it _didn't_ finger your partners in crime.  Who helped you?"

Kirk's chin went up defiantly.  "No one, sir," he said evenly.

"Come, come, I know you don't have all the necessary expertise.  Who helped?  Consrev?  It seems like his style."

"I did it alone, sir," Kirk said.  He may be sunk, but he was _not_ dragging his friends under too.

"Kelso?"

"I did it alone, sir," Kirk repeated stubbornly.

"Did what alone?"

Kirk and Komack turned towards the door.  Unnoticed by both, Nogura had arrived, presumably back from his meeting.  Kirk felt a spark of hope.  Maybe the Klingons would get the chance to take a crack at him after all.  Nogura crossed the room and took a seat.

"Beat the impossible test?  At least six people told me on the way here.  You've got the whole campus talking," Nogura said.

"Thank you, sir."

"They will be talking about something else very soon," Komack snapped.  It could have been meant innocently enough.  Kirk suspected otherwise.

"So what exactly _did_ he do?" Nogura asked.  "Garbled exclamations notwithstanding, I haven't heard the full story yet."

"Why don't you tell him, Cadet?" Komack said, eyes narrowing.

Kirk looked straight ahead, jaw tight.  "I reprogrammed the scenario, sir."

"He _cheated_," Komack hissed.

"It looks that way," Nogura acknowledged. "The question begs to be asked, why?"

Kirk weighed his possible answers, and decided the truth was no riskier than any lie.  Not much safer, but no riskier.  "The test was unfair, sir."

"In what way?"

"It isn't possible to rescue the freighter and survive.  Sir."

"This will probably shock you, but the point is _not_ to rescue the freighter," Komack snapped.

Kirk knew his skepticism was written across his face, and strived to suppress it.  "With all due respect, sir, what _is_ the point?"

"The Kobayashi Maru is a test of character," Nogura explained.  "The entire scenario is designed to see how a cadet reacts.  It _can't_ be won.  It is deliberately intended to be a no-win situation."

"I don't believe in the no-win situation," Kirk objected.  "Sir."

"Perhaps.  But the point is to see how you react to it.  Some cadets try to negotiate.  Others conclude the risk is too great, and bypass a rescue.  Many go in, stage a terrific battle, and end up destroyed."

"And then we have Cadet Kirk's solution," Komack glowered.

"Yes.  We do," Nogura agreed.

Silence fell as the Commodores considered and Kirk digested this new information.

"I think it shows original thinking," Nogura volunteered.

"And _I_ think it shows a blatant disregard for authority, a dangerously reckless streak, and every indication of an inability to follow orders.  I consider this a clear indication that you will _never_ be a suitable Starfleet officer."

Kirk had been looking at the tabletop.  His head jerked up.  "Never?" he echoed, not wanting to even consider what that could mean.

"Now just a minute, Komack—" Nogura began.

"And this is not the first incident either," Komack went on regardless.  "And as the supervisor of this test, I am not being unreasonable to recommend _expulsion_."

There weren't any explosions.  There wasn't any fire and brimstone.  No meteor shower and no hurricane.  No colliding stars, no supernovas and no exploding galaxies.

Fifteen years later, Kirk still thought there should have been.

Nogura argued on his behalf, but it didn't help.  The decision lay with Komack.  Within the week Kirk was out of Starfleet.

Kirk abruptly stopped remembering.  He didn't want to remember any more.  He supposed it was his one biggest weakness, that after fifteen years he still couldn't make himself face one day.  He hadn't thought of it in years.  But there was something about this ship, these people…

He stopped himself.  If he kept on this line of thinking he was going to get himself into trouble, he could feel it.  He was being ridiculous anyway.  He was better off now, he told himself very firmly.  He had been stupid to think Starfleet was so wonderful.  The idealistic dreaming of a teenager, a kid who didn't know any better.  Well, he knew a lot better now.  Starfleet had made it pretty clear that they didn't need him.  And he sure as hell didn't need them.

Sniff.  And by the way, Admiral Nogura put Kirk back in command of the _Enterprise_ in _ST: The Motion Picture_, and it was Admiral Komack who wouldn't let them divert to Vulcan in _Amok Time_.  Thought I'd mention that.  Right then, NOW you can hit review.  Unless you want to read the replies first, of course.

Wedge: Yes!  Not the usual argument!  Thank you!  And have you seen Pirates yet?

Emp: Well…by now you know why we're going to Romulus.  : )

Mzsnaz: That wasn't too much pressure.  And have _you_ seen Pirates yet?

Ael: Oh heavens, you're not going to be insulted by a Vulcan comment _McCoy_ makes are you?  He's…McCoy!  And yes, of course the pattern was on purpose.

Mimi6: Writer's block, papers, exams…wow, that sounds a lot like high school too…

Bug of Xanth…*double take* hey!  Xanth!  Cool!  Ahem.  Yes well, guess you're still waiting.  Vicious, vicious cycle.  But at least the Romulan question has been answered.  Somewhat.

RadarPLO: Ah yes, what _is_ Kirk's connection to the Romulans?  That's going to be a few chapters in coming, I'm afraid…

Whatshername: I read your review.  And I replied.  And now I'm going to the next person.  : )

Samantha: Bad at history.  As you pointed out, it's all 200 years farther back for them than for us.  And further and possibly more relevantly, they're all many more years out of school and therefore history class (I assume the majority of my reviewers are high school/college age, as far as I've gleaned from reviews and bios).  And while you can trust Spock to know random facts, he's not likely to know human explorers (especially not in this story), and Chekov of course only knows Russian trivia.  And so the only character left from the show who would know history is, well, Kirk.  So there we are.  And I'm still enjoying your enjoyment of the Lowell business.  Did that make sense?

Silverfang: [blinks] I have a funny feeling I missed something…who's destroying English and why?  If they kill term papers I'll help…

Vest-Button: Not exactly…

Solidchristian-88: I think everything you referred to is going to keep getting more relevant.  I think that's good. ^_^

Beedrill: I love reviewers who get what I'm saying…of course, I love all reviewers, even when they frustrate me, but I really love it when people get it.  And you're not the only one who got it, but you're the one who commented on getting it…anyway.  Yes.  Ice.  And as to the codes, I'm sure they've heard of them.  They're just not making the connection.  See note to Samantha above.  And I had fun with the Scotty line…  Well, I believe we're still en route to Romulus at Warp Six…but it's a while before we'll get there.  No need for plot development _every_ chapter.

Alright, I'm off to fight with Trekkie Soul until it lets me finish another chapter.  Review please!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Star Trek isn't mine.  But I bet I love it much more than Paramount.

Well, this worked out nicely.  According to my notes, I first dreamed this story up a year ago yesterday (I was GOING to post yesterday, but no, Fanfiction had to die.)…doesn't feel nearly that long.  'Course, I didn't start writing it until a few months later…but that very first page where I scribbled out the basic idea and, just on a whim, dated the top, was exactly a year and a day ago today.  And the relevance is…?  Nothing in particular, it's just interesting.  I'll let you get to the chapter now.

Chapter Fourteen

After spending all day with members of Starfleet, Kirk concluded it was probably time he checked up on the Sharks.  It didn't pay to leave them to their own devices for too long.  And regardless of what he might have said to McCoy, most of the pirates were probably over their hangovers by now.  In fact, the timing just might be right to catch them before they got drunk again.  It took some wandering, but he finally came across them in the Mess Hall.  It was there that his search actually became easier, as he didn't have to hunt through the Mess Hall to know they were there.  He could tell by the noise as soon as the doors opened.

The music wasn't sophisticated and it wasn't very well sung, but it was enthusiastic:

"What will we do with a drunken sailor?

What will we do with a drunken sailor?

What will we do with a drunken sailor,

Early in the morning?

"Throw him in the longboat 'til he's sober,

Throw him in the longboat 'til he's sober,

Throw him in the longboat 'til he's sober,

Early in the morning!

"Weigh hey, and up she rises!

Weigh hey, and up she rises!

Weigh hey and up she rises,

Early in the morning!"

The song ended, dissolving into laughing and joking, and Kirk crossed the room.  He surveyed the boisterous pirates and the many glasses evident on the table, and shook his head.

"Good god, Harry, it's two in the afternoon."

Harry Mudd, who that comment was obviously addressed to, lifted his cup and tilted it towards Kirk to show the clear liquid within.  "Strictly water, Jim.  The way my head feels today, I wouldn't trust cider."

Kirk grinned and dropped into the nearest chair.  "Don't blame you.  You were _far gone_ last night."  He glanced around the table.  "You _all_ were."

Harry nodded.  "And we've all got water."

"Didn't know you all had that much restraint."  He took a closer look at the Sharks around him.  "In fact, you _don't_ have that much restraint.  What's the story?"

The Sharks shifted, looked at each other, and it fell to Harry to answer the question.  "Well, seems we ordered…a little too much last night.  Some kind of secondary program kicked in to stop the replicators from replicating alcohol.  Reeves still hasn't figured a way past it yet."

Kirk blinked.  "He hacked into the self-destruct sequence in less than an hour."

"Well, the way his head feels today…"

"Point taken," Kirk acknowledged, then had a thought.  "So if no one's drinking, explain the song."

Harry grinned slyly.  "Oh, well, that's a simple matter of maintaining our reputation.  The Starfleet group here seems to expect Blackbeard to show up any time now.  No good reason not to perpetuate the myth."

That garnered a fair smattering of laughter, which Kirk joined in as he glanced around the room.  Sure enough, the Starfleet crew were regarding them with suspicion, hostility, and perhaps a touch of fear.  Kirk told himself that he didn't care, and he believed it.

"Not a bad plan," Kirk acknowledged, then grinned and added, "unless we decide we want to establish a mutually beneficial line of peaceful communication."

That garnered a few stares.  "Where'd ye pull _that_ line from, cap'n?"

"Stole it off a guy with pointed ears," Kirk said easily.

The one who had asked still looked blank.  The Shark next to him poked him and said, "He means The Vulcan."

Kirk laughed.  "Right, I mean The Vulcan."

That brought in more laughter from almost everyone.  One primary exception though, and Kirk zeroed in on that pirate.  You don't become a successful gang leader by being oblivious.

"You aren't amused, Charlie."  It was more a statement than a question.

Charlie frowned.  "No.  I'm not."

"Something bothering you?" Kirk persisted.

"Yes.  I don't know why we're here."

"The Mess Hall is generally where you go when thirsty aboard a starship," Kirk said lightly.

"No, I meant _here_," Charlie snapped.  "On this ship.  We strike fast, we take what we want, and we _leave_.  That's the way the system works."

Kirk's instincts, as they usually were, had been correct; this was more serious than a simple matter of a failure to appreciate a humorous comment.  "Try to keep in mind who _makes_ the system work," Kirk said in a low voice.

"The point is, it _works_.  And this isn't it.  Nowhere in the plan do we sit on the ship while they repair, then take the bloody spaceship somewhere!"

Kirk nodded.  "I see…and your preferred course of action would be…?"

"Take what we can, give nothing back, and get the hell out of here, but fast," Charlie said bluntly, meeting Kirk's gaze levelly.

The rest of the Sharks had fallen silent and were watching.  Waiting.  Waiting for what Kirk would do.

Kirk assumed a considering expression.  "Mm-hmm…it's a thought.  And there's certainly plenty to take.  In weapons alone, we could make a fortune.  Medical supplies too.  And there's plenty of dilithium in the warp core, if we felt like stranding 430 people in deep space with no warp power.  No doubt about it.  Definite possibilities for grabbing and running."

Charlie was nodding enthusiastically.  "Exactly!  You see?  We don't _need_ to hang around here."

Kirk turned a contemptuous look on him.  "You're thinking _small_, Charlie," he said scornfully.  "This isn't a merchant ship.  She's a starship.  She's bigger game."

Charlie flushed.  "Yeah, and it's not defenseless either," he said hotly.  "We're gonna get ourselves shot in our sleep one night."

"Not invalid," Kirk acknowledged, "but I think it's a fair risk.  Do you know how much a _starship_ is worth to the Romulans?  Worth the risk, believe me."

There was an appreciative murmur.  Charlie continued glaring, and Kirk went on.

"Anyway, risks are part of the business.  You don't get anywhere without them.  Sure, you lose sometimes.  But sometimes you win.  I usually win.  But the point is that I take the risks.  And besides…if you're really worried about being shot in your sleep, lock the door."  Kirk grinned.  "And I don't care how short their skirts are, don't bring any of them in with you."

That brought in several unholy snickers and a furious expression from Charlie.

"Oh like _you're_ one to talk," he snapped.

Kirk shrugged and didn't try to deny that.

"Y'know what you are?" Charlie snarled.  "Yer one _damn_ lucky son of a—"

"I wouldn't advise insulting my mother," Kirk said evenly.  Though his tone was relatively light and his posture was still slouched, Kirk had gone tense.  He knew what was coming; he'd been expecting it for weeks.  Charlie, unfortunately, was ambitious.

"_Lucky_!  _Damned_ lucky!  And that's _it_!  So high and mighty," he sneered.  "With your risks and your wild plans and your great ideas.  And all you are is _lucky_."  His chin jutted out in defiance.  "_I_ could do just as well."

Kirk stood up, walked around the table, and belted Charlie in the jaw.  Unprepared, both Charlie and his chair went over backwards with a clatter, to land in a tangled heap on the floor.  The Mess Hall fell completely silent.

Kirk leaned over him.  "Yeah, I'm lucky.  So what?  And y'know something?  I don't give a damn whether you can run this group or not.  I'm in command and I'm staying here.  And that means you listen to me.  If you stay in this band you'll follow my commands, and if you can't handle that, feel free to turn yourself over to Starfleet.  I have no doubt that Mr. Spock would be delighted to put you in the brig."

Charlie glared at him venomously, got to his feet, and stormed out, brushing past a startled Ensign Chekov on his way out the door.  Kirk doubted that Charlie was about to turn himself over to Spock's custody, but he also doubted he was going to go cause trouble.  Those instincts again.  A glance around the room showed that all eyes were still on Kirk.

Kirk smiled pleasantly.  "Minor disciplinary matter, nothing to concern yourselves with, you can all go on with your lives now."  As he retook his chair he shot another glance at Chekov, who had obviously walked in while Kirk's attention was on the minor disciplinary matter.  "You look a little surprised, Ensign," Kirk called.

Chekov shook his head.  "Starship captains don't brawl in the Mess Hall."

Kirk shrugged.  "Well now, I'm not a starship captain, am I?"

~~~***~~~

Wedge: You saw Pirates!  Good!  And I think you reviewed one or two.  And wow, I last posted this two days before Christmas?  Been a while, hasn't it…

Whatshername: I would be honored if Marvin enjoyed my story.  And I'm delighted you liked my description, because you, you know, have awesome descriptions.

Bug the Xanthian Hobbit (covering your bases, I see): Well now, Kirk's planning to give up the Enterprise…but we'll see just how that turns out eventually.  And quoting _Captain_ Jack Sparrow is always a good thing. : )

Mzsnaz: Yes, I think that's the Romulans' plans.  More or less anyway.  Ever find the DVD player?

Silverfang: Of course POTC rocks!  And I swear I don't know how it happened that Kirk's like Jack, since, as you should know from the A/N at top, I thought of all of this eight months before seeing Pirates.  And yet he is…

Vestie: Yes…Kirk definitely has a reckless streak.  It's just a pity Komack couldn't work _with_ it, instead of against it.  Which remind somewhat irrationally of Kirk telling Harry about the "special android attendant.  She'll help you work _with_ the androids, and not exploit them."  Random, I know.  And I'm delighted you added me to your favorite author list!

Emp: I'm glad you liked the chapter even though it was sad, because there's a few more sad ones coming…but that's far down the road yet.

RadarPLO: Yeah…I never have liked Komack.  Very stupid guy.

Solidchristian-88: History hinges on the little things.  If Ogadi (don't recall the spelling) Khan hadn't died, we might all be speaking Chinese.  The Mongol hordes (I love that phrase) were sweeping through Europe, but then Mr. Khan up and died and they went home to pick a new leader and never conquered Europe.  This random historical fact brought to you care of no one but me.  And I'm glad you like the chapter!

Beedrill: I'm glad you latched onto the "fragile relationships," that theme will definitely be coming back.  And I assume when you're referring to the story in past tense you meant the Kobayashi Maru flashback, not the story over all…  Oh yes, the Denobulan Sponge Fish.  I made it up.  Phlox (from _Enterprise_, dunno if you watch) is a Denobulan, so I stole that, and then figured, well, what soaks things up?  Sponges.  And hence the Denobulan Sponge Fish.

Samantha Quinn: Glad the history matter is settled, you had me a bit worried in the last review.  And you're right, the nuclear wessels backs me up, even though I hadn't thought of them myself.

Mimi6: The story's definitely continuing.  Glad you like it!

I think that's all.  More coming pretty soon.  Expect more Harry, and a flashback in another chapter or two…we're closing in on the story of how Kirk became a pirate, I anticipate two more flashbacks in this long-range plan.  In the meantime, review!  Or the story dies…kidding, only kidding.  The story's very firmly alive.  My muse likes this one.  But then, so do I. : )


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I own absolutely no one contained in these chapters.  Lowell and the non-real-character Sharks make no appearances, so I'm back to owning nothing.  Paramount.

I'm a particular fan of this chapter…I think it's kinda cute.  It's also kinda short, but I promise there'll be another one up soon, and another flashback chapter after next.  In the meantime, enjoy!

Chapter Fifteen

There was no meeting of the Senior Crew on the morning following Kirk's minor disciplinary matters.  Spock judged it unwise.  Unable to solve their replicator problem, the Sharks had not become drunk the evening before and therefore there was no reason to assume they would sleep late.  Besides, there was no particularly significant information to discuss.  Aside perhaps from the fact that they were now going to the Romulan Empire, but talking about something they could not presently change would have little productive purpose.  All things considered, it did end up as a good choice to have no meeting, as Kirk was on the bridge by seven.  Spock had been there since six.

Kirk strolled onto the bridge, the turbolift doors hissing shut behind him.  He grinned at Spock.  "And here I thought I might actually beat you to the bridge today."

Spock's eyebrow rose in silent query.

"Get here first," Kirk clarified.  His gaze wandered around the bridge, resting on the unfamiliar faces at most of the consoles.  "So where are the rest of the usual suspects?"

Spock's other eyebrow rose.

"The bridge crew."

"This is the bridge crew," Spock said calmly, being maddeningly unhelpful.  That's how Kirk saw it anyway.  He refused to be annoyed.

"I meant the ones who were here yesterday," Kirk said patiently.  "And the day before."

"Their shift does not begin for another hour," Spock said, providing useful information in spite of himself.  Or maybe Kirk had just happened across the right question.

"Eight o'clock…so they must be Alpha Shift, and this is Gamma Shift," Kirk mused, vaguely pleased with himself for knowing that.

Spock nodded curtly, and turned his attention back to his console.  Kirk leaned on the back of the command chair, looking at it and the front area of the bridge, simply enjoying them and ignoring the hostile stares from the Gamma Shift.  It was, interestingly enough, harder to ignore the dark and silent presence by the science station.  Kirk turned his back to the command chair and walked over there.

"You know, Mr. Spock, I've a feeling we got started on the wrong foot."  This statement was immediately followed by the necessity of reining in a laugh.  Spock had that eyebrow up again.  "We didn't begin our relations in the most positive way," Kirk said carefully.

The other eyebrow shot up.  "I believe I attempted a positive approach from the outset.  _You_ did not seem receptive."

"You wanted to arrest me," Kirk pointed out.

"I was attempting to facilitate a peaceful—"

"Yes, I know," Kirk acknowledged.  "And I did throw that back in your face didn't I?"  He paused.  Sighed.  "Can't you get it from context?  I'm starting to feel like a universal translator."

Spock hesitated, then nodded.

"Okay.  So I did that.  But I don't see why we can't declare a sort of unofficial truce now."

Spock considered.  "Would this unofficial truce in any way involve your relinquishing control of this vessel?"

"Ah…no.  Hadn't planned on that, not really."

"Then it hardly appears to be an equitable truce."

Kirk shrugged.  "Okay, okay.  So I took over the ship.  So I'm continuing to hang on to it.  All I'm asking is, don't go out of your way to hate me for it."

Spock looked at him, face expressionless.  "I am a Vulcan," he said evenly.  "Hate is a human emotion with which I am totally unfamiliar."  And then he turned back to his viewer, presenting his back to Kirk in a clear dismissal.

"Well," Kirk said.  "That makes me feel much better."

*  *  *

The bridge crew—the ones Kirk knew best—arrived promptly at eight to relieve the Gamma Shift.  Kirk wasn't certain, but he thought the hostile stares he got from the Alpha Shift were slightly less hostile than the stares he had been getting from the Gamma Shift.  He decided this was a good sign.

The rest of the morning passed peacefully enough.  Even if Spock hadn't agreed to a truce, he almost might as well have.  Conditions of that sort prevailed regardless.

Around noon Kirk took note of the time, and realized a very important fact.  He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Harry Mudd in over twelve hours.  It was definitely time to hunt him up and see what trouble he had gotten himself into.  Also whether he needed Kirk to bail him out.  The idea that Harry might _not_ be in a predicament never entered Kirk's mind.

Finding Harry wasn't the easiest thing Kirk had ever done, but certainly not the hardest either.  The Enterprise wasn't huge, and after a reasonable interval of wandering Kirk ran across Harry in a corridor.  Harry wasn't alone.  His attention was focused solely on the pretty blonde in the corridor with him.  She was young and pert, with hair piled high on her head.  She was also a yeoman, judging by the stripes—or lack thereof—on her sleeves.  Harry was obviously at his charming best, and, just as obviously, not succeeding.

"I can see it now," Harry was saying.  "A little beach somewhere.  A twilight evening, a starry sky, a full moon…you must look beautiful in the moonlight."

"Are you done yet?" she asked, with more than a trace of irritation.

Harry blinked.  This was not quite the response he'd been hoping for.  "Well…for the moment."

"Good."  And then she slapped him.  "Do you really think the women on this ship never talk to each other?  _Creep_."  She stormed away.

"But—wait!  Janice!  Come back!"  She didn't.  Harry sighed, and rubbed his jaw.  "I didn't deserve that."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry.  Of course you did," Kirk said good-naturedly, abandoning his position leaning against one wall and strolling up to Harry.  "You _always_ deserve it."

Harry rolled his eyes.  "Sure, Jim, read me the lecture.  You've had your fair share of slaps too."

Kirk grinned.  "Sure, but I know better than to hit on Starfleet women.  Give me a dancing girl any day.  Believe me, _you_ got off easy."

"Tell that to my wounded pride," Harry said with great dignity, as he began walking along the corridor.

Kirk took up a stride next to him.  "Oh, I don't know, you didn't do too bad…considering you were using _borrowed merchandise_."

"Borr…oh."  Harry sighed.  "Now Jim, share and share alike…"

"A beach to walk on…a starry sky and a full moon…"  He elbowed Harry in the ribs.  "_My_ line, Harry.  I know you've heard me use it."

"For all the good it did me, you're welcome to it," Harry grumbled, rubbing his jaw.

Kirk laughed.  "As long as you can eat, somehow I think you'll be fine."

Harry brightened visibly.  "It _is_ about time for lunch, isn't it?"

It was then that Kirk noticed that he recognized the door they were passing.  He grinned.  "You go on ahead.  I'll catch up."

"You got something to do?"

Kirk nodded towards the door.  "I'm gonna drop by and see Bones."

"Bones?"  Harry frowned.  "Isn't he the one who breaks—"

"Not that Bones."

"Oh.  Well, have fun."

"I will."

We'll get to Bones soon.  Specifically next chapter.  Which will be soon.  : )

Ael: Nope, not Charlie X.  And why is the rum gone?  One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels, and two, that signal is over a thousand feet high, the entire Royal Navy is out looking for her, do you think there is even the slightest chance they won't see it?  Typed from memory.  Yes, I'm insane.

Mimi6: The dread pirate Roberts is from _Princess Bride_ of course.  He's actually a name that keeps getting passed along from pirate to pirate, briefly landing on Wesley and then moving on, I believe, to Indigo.  Good movie.  Feel free to spread those five reviews over the next five chapters.  : ) And thanks for adding me to your favorites!

RadarPLO: Interesting observation, that Kirk isn't playing by the rules.  Because, come to think of it, the real Kirk doesn't either.

Mzsnaz: The muse must be kept happy, she's very demanding.  Hehe.  And I was particularly fond of those last two lines.  Chekov pretty much exists in that scene just so Kirk can say that last line.

The Tribble Wrangler: I appreciate your dedication to catch up! And are you sure you can't picture Kirk as a pirate?  Just a little bit?  With some effort?

Whatshername (another name change I see.  Tsk.): Keep churning out awesome chapters…aw, thank you!  We're even then, I'm jealous of your awesome descriptions, lol.  And I think my muse's name is Thalia, the ancient Greek muse of comedy.  Seems fitting, no?

Samantha: Y'know, that was one of the nicest reviews I've ever gotten.  Thank you!

Bug: That's okay, I think Jack would forgive you.  Assuming you gave him some rum to make up for it, lol.  And the muse is still happy, so am I, and hopefully you are too.

Fool of an Elf: You're probably not caught up as I type this, but you will be eventually.  Glad you like the story!  And no, we don't care about Lowell!

New chapter soon!  (for about the third time…shows I'm sincere.)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: Paramount.

Like I said, soon! Thanks to a couple of late night scribbling sessions (why must the muse always come at ten o'clock? She has no sense of convenience…) I have two lovely chapters to post. Short, I admit it, but that's why there's two of them. Enjoy!

Chapter Sixteen

The Sickbay doors hissed open to admit one person. Those few medical personnel who weren't at lunch took note and paid attention. It hadn't taken long to realize that any time Jim Kirk walked into Sickbay, there was bound to be excitement.

McCoy rolled his eyes on seeing him. "You. Again."

Kirk grinned. "Me. Again."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

Kirk shook his head. "Not a thing. Besides, I was in the neighborhood, and I enjoy dropping by."

"I'm glad someone enjoys this," McCoy muttered, oblivious to the fact that most of his staff was enjoying it quite a bit.

"I must say, you've certainly got a knack for friendly greetings," Kirk observed, claiming the nearest seat."

"I'm friendly to people I'm interested in being friends with," McCoy snapped.

Kirk laid a hand over his heart. "I'm hurt. Deeply."

McCoy stared at him. "You attacked our ship and took over. And now you want to just up and declare friends?"

Kirk considered, then nodded. "Yes." He shrugged. "Or at least carry on a polite conversation."

McCoy sighed. "Polite. Fine. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you. And you?"

"Just dandy," McCoy said sourly. "Aside from a persistent annoyance."

Kirk took that in good humor. "So do you mean me, or Spock?"

McCoy scowled.  "Make that two annoyances."

Kirk shook his head. "I'm still not seeing your problem with Spock."

"I thought you wanted the conversation to be polite," McCoy said dryly. "Better change the subject."

"Alright. How's work?"

"Busy. Always. You?"

"Pursuing a major interest right now. If it pays off, I don't expect to ever work again."

McCoy chose not to respond to that. He cast about for another topic. "So…how's the family?"

Kirk blinked. "Do I _look_ like I have a family? Because if so, I need to work on my image."

McCoy shrugged. "It's the usual question, right along with 'how's the weather,' and there's no weather in space. Didn't really think it would go anywhere, but thought I'd ask."

"Oh. Well, no family. You got a family?"

McCoy hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. A daughter."

"Really?"

"Joanna. She's back on Earth."

"You from Earth, then?" Kirk asked. It actually wasn't necessarily a given. These days, there were enough colonies that you never knew.

McCoy nodded. "Yes. Georgia."

Sickbay in general was becoming bored at this point. An amicable conversation wasn't quite what they'd been hoping for.

It was here that McCoy had a thought. The conversation so far had been, frankly, pointless, and pursued only because past experience told him an attempt to throw Kirk out wouldn't succeed. But maybe he could turn this to an advantage. After all, it couldn't possibly hurt to know more about Jim Kirk.

"So…where are you from?" McCoy asked casually.

Sickbay in general perked up.

Kirk grinned. "You'd be surprised."

"Maybe not," McCoy countered.

"Take a guess," Kirk invited.

"Alaren?" McCoy suggested, naming the planet with the second-worst reputation in that section of the galaxy.

"Alaren?" Kirk shook his head. "Not exactly."

"Rigel?" Rigel had the worst.

"_Rigel_?" Kirk laughed suddenly. "Oh, I get it. You're gonna trace all my problems back to my childhood. You're figuring I'm from some slum on Rigel. Started as a pickpocket at six, moved up to petty theft by ten. Got into drugs, gangs and felonies at eighteen, and left the planet fleeing a murder charge at twenty-one." He grinned at the admittedly taken-aback McCoy. "Well? Am I close?"

"Fairly," McCoy admitted. "Was I?"

"Light years off. Y'know where I'm from? Born and raised in?"

"Where?"

"Iowa."

McCoy's eyebrows rose. "_Iowa_?"

"Good old American heartland," Kirk said with exaggerated whimsy. "The small town of Riverside, Iowa. Farm country. A dog, a tree house, and a pond out back."

"You were right," McCoy murmured. "I'm surprised."

"Y'know what I was doing at ten? I was a boy scout."

"_You_ were a _boy scout_?"

"You should see the knots I can tie."

McCoy shook his head, incredulous. "So what were you doing at eighteen?"

"At eighteen?" Kirk grew a little more solemn. "You really wouldn't believe what I was doing at eighteen," he said quietly.

"Grand larceny?" McCoy suggested.

Kirk half-smiled. "When I was eighteen, I was in San Francisco. Starfleet Academy. Second-year cadet."

McCoy really didn't believe it. "_You_ were in Starfleet Academy? Mr. 'To hell with Starfleet' Kirk? You're joking me."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't joke about Starfleet. They aren't funny."

"Okay, fine. Assuming you didn't pull the whole thing out of a hat, what's a boy scout from Iowa who went to Starfleet Academy doing running a lot of petty raiders, who probably _did_ grow up on Rigel? What are you _doing_ out here?"

Kirk looked away. "I wanted to travel the stars," he said slowly, and for a moment McCoy honestly thought he'd get a real answer. But then Kirk looked back, and McCoy knew he wouldn't, not today. The bitter cynic who didn't give a damn about the Federation or anyone in it was back. "But Starfleet wouldn't let me do it their way. So I figured, they don't want me, I don't need them. I can get around the galaxy my own way. And I've done pretty damn good."

There were no comebacks to that, and McCoy didn't try to make one.

After a moment Kirk rose to his feet. "Well, I gotta get going. Stuff to do." He headed for the door. "See you around, Bones."

"I keep telling you," McCoy called after him, "it's Dr. McCoy."

"I know."

~~~***~~~

I'll reply here, and then let you go on to the next chapter I think. Unless you want to review first. : )

Njong: The answers to every one of your questions will be revealed. Just not for awhile. But by the end of the story, every issue will be addressed. Except perhaps whether you'll ever shut up, lol. But that's okay, I don't mind. Long reviews are fun!

Bug: The risks speech has turned up…just not in its entirety. I'm trying to keep away from the screwball comedy, though obviously there is some humor.

Mzsnaz: Wow, you seem happy. Good, I love happy reviewers!

RadarPLO: An interesting question. Will the Enterprise crew start to like Kirk, despite his pirate status? We shall see.

Mimi6: Clearly, they found out his past. How you predicted that I don't know.

Whatshername: Yes, of course, the eyebrow. It's ALL about the eyebrow, lol. And, well, we'll see about the name…

Unrealistic: Your brother likes my fic? He _reads_ my fic? He doesn't review…bad him. More to the point, I'm glad _you_ like my fic. And if you love frequent updates, you can be very happy. : )

Silverfang: Busy and lazy…boy, have I been there. Glad to see ya though! And yeah…couldn't resist that line.

'Tis all. On to the next one!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: Still Paramount.

Chapter Seventeen

What _was_ he doing out here?  Kirk asked himself that question once in a while.  Not for a long time though.  He asked it again as he walked down the corridor away from Sickbay.  It was the first time in years.  He didn't know the answer though.  His thoughts drifted back to the night he had decided to go out into space.  He hadn't thought about _that_ in years either…

He'd been twenty-two, three years away from the crushing disappointment of his expulsion from Starfleet Academy.  Three years, and he hadn't really done much of anything with them.  Oh, he'd been busy enough.  Even planned the rest of his life, in a way.  He'd spent the three years in Iowa, and expected to spend the rest of his life the same way.  He was going to go the route of most of the town, and become a farmer.  It was hardly glamorous and it wasn't Starfleet, but it was a perfectly respectable way to spend one's life.  He was satisfied.  Or at least, he'd convinced himself he was.

It was a summer evening, warm with a slight breeze.  He was spending the evening as he had spent many evenings over many years, gazing up.  He picked out the constellations, and looked for all the stars he could name.  He found many of the Federation worlds, Vulcan, Alpha Centauri, Altair, a dozen others.  He liked some of the others better though, like Romulus, Quo'nos, and Andoria.  And then there were his favorites.  The ones that didn't belong to any of the known races, the ones no humans had ever been to, the ones that were way, way out there, somewhere.  He wondered what they were like, what the stars looked like from their surfaces, if they had any people on them and if they ever looked up at the night sky.

He heard the door open.  His mother came out on the porch and stood behind him.  He didn't glance back.  He was occupied looking for Tarsus.  It wasn't a very bright star, and it was particularly faint this time of year.  But if he looked hard enough, he could spot it.  Sometimes.

His thoughts were interrupted.

He heard his mother sigh, and then she spoke.  "You need to get out of here, Jimmy."

He looked at her, startled.  "What?"

She was smiling, but sadly.  "You need to get out of here.  Out of this town, out of this state, even off this planet.  You don't belong here."

Kirk stiffened.  "Sure I do," he said stubbornly.  "I'm going to be a farmer.  There's a great new advancement in genetically engineered seed that could revolutionize—"

"_Jimmy_.  You can fool the town, and your brother, and maybe even yourself, but you're not fooling me.  I've been watching you.  You're not a farmer.  Farmers don't look up.  They can't.  They have to look down, at the earth, to make sure their furrows are straight and their seeds are in the right place, and don't tell me the computers do that, the principle is the same.  You don't look down, Jimmy; you never have and you never will.  You're always looking up.  Keep on like this and you're going to wake up one morning an old man, and realize you spent your whole life farming by day and dreaming of fighting Klingons at night, and you're going to have a heck of a back problem to boot.  Don't waste your life like that."

He didn't try to argue anymore.  Because somewhere deep down, he had always known the truth of what she was saying.  "What choice do I have though?" he asked softly.  "What can I possibly do about it?"

"Well…" she drawled, "You can stay here moping around about Starfleet, or you can go _do_ something.  Forget Starfleet.  They don't own space.  There's a lot out there.  If nothing else, work your way across the Federation, go do _something_."

He had applied for a position on board a cargo ship en route to Altair by the next morning.

He wondered, sometimes, how exactly he'd gotten from that summer evening in Iowa to where he was now.

It had been a long trip and it had taken a lot of years, but he'd come a long, long way.  He just wasn't always certain it had been down the right road. 

He'd knocked around from planet to planet for a while, from job to job.  No goal, no plan, no aim.  Just a new planet every month and stars out the view port between times.  And for a while, he convinced himself that that was enough.  Maybe hauling cargo wasn't exactly in line with his plans, but who knew what was on the next planet, or the next?

And then it happened.  After two months straight on a run between Hafnium and Yttrium hauling base metals for building purposes, he woke up one morning and came to a conclusion.  The galaxy simply was not the way he had imagined it.  There wasn't adventure around every turn, there wasn't glory and excitement on every world.  There wasn't a new alien to fight or a new planet to save every week.  The galaxy just wasn't like that.  Well, maybe it was if you were Garth of Izar.  But he was James T. Kirk.  And there lay the difference.  It was time he got his head out of the clouds and started viewing the galaxy the way it really was…

And that was that, Kirk told himself very firmly, and he was being ridiculous.  If he had any sense at all he'd go to the Mess Hall and see if he was in time to catch up with Harry.  And so he would.

Sigh…  One more flashback to go I think.  A few chapters in between first though.  I do believe there's a space battle on the horizon.

"Now…bring me that horizon.  [hums] And really bad eggs…drink up me 'earties, _yo ho_!"

Ahem.  Just ignore the random singing and hit the review button please.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: All right…I confess.  It is my intention to commandeer Star Trek, pick up a crew from the Enterprise, and pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer my weasley black guts out.  So there.

Hasn't been too long, has it?  I don't think so…and I think this is the longest chapter yet!  Have fun!

Chapter Eighteen

The pirates didn't get particularly drunk that night, but nevertheless Spock called a meeting for the following morning.  It didn't look as though waiting until they could be certain of a hangover would be feasible, nor logical.  And so the same group as before met in the same storeroom as before to discuss the same matter once again.

The beginning of the meeting was uneventful enough.  Communications were still out.  Engineering had the ship in excellent condition, though Scott didn't see how that was doing anyone but Kirk any good.  Security was still wringing its hands and wishing collective glares could cause mass death.  And medical…medical was where things got interesting.

Spock came to McCoy last.  Whether this decision was in any way affected by the fact that McCoy was clearly itching to say something was a question Spock would not have answered had it been put to him.

"Medical report, please," Spock said finally.

"Everybody's pretty much like they were before," McCoy said briskly.  "But guess what?"

Spock looked just faintly annoyed.  "Guessing would be a fruitless enterprise on my part, as you have given me no parameters within which to guess, therefore opening infinite possibilities.  As we are working within a limited timeframe, please keep your foolish diversions to yourself."

McCoy rolled his eyes, and said, "Iowa."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "This phrase should have some meaning to me?"

McCoy sighed, and explained.  "He's from Iowa.  Jim Kirk's from Iowa.  We all said we needed more information about him.  Well, I got some.  He's from Iowa."

"And how, precisely, is this _useful_ information?"

McCoy started to answer, stopped, and finally admitted, "All right, maybe it's _not_ useful, but get this: _He went to Starfleet Academy_."

That produced more of a reaction.  Sickbay in general may have heard the news, but apparently the _Enterprise_'s gossip chain had not conveyed it to the bridge crew.

"Interesting," was all Spock said.

"I would've thought it rated a 'fascinating,'" McCoy said dryly.

"'Fascinating' I reserve for the unexpected.  This is merely interesting."

McCoy stared at him.  "You're not telling me you _expected_ this?"

"I did consider it to be a possibility," Spock acknowledged, "though certainly not a certainty."

Others were more skeptical.  "I do not believe it," Chekov said flatly.

"Don't ask me, that's what _he_ said," McCoy responded.

"He lies," Chekov said firmly.

"It would explain much though," Spock said thoughtfully.  "His general knowledge of starships and starship operations, for instance.  That is what suggested to the possibility to me to begin with."

"It does _not_ explain vhy he is a pirate," Chekov said stubbornly.

"It is not an irreconcilable circumstance," Spock said patiently.  "He may have dropped out of the Academy, to name one of many possibilities.  In any event, he plainly broke with Starfleet at some point and is now in his present position."

"However it happened, it was a messy break," McCoy put in.  "He's got a _major_ chip on his shoulder where Starfleet is concerned."

"If we knew the reason for his resentment of Starfleet, _that_ would be useful," Spock decided.

McCoy scowled, instantly and automatically affronted.  "Oh sure, the information I _didn't_ get is the part _you'd_ find useful."

"It is unfortunate," Spock said noncommittally.

The rest of those present resigned themselves to sitting through another argument between Spock and McCoy.  Except that there wasn't one.  McCoy frowned but didn't respond, and the whole business blew over.

The next matter to consider was, naturally, the issue of Kirk's codes.  Only one had been heard: Diaz1487.  Another name, another number, and there wasn't time for deep meditations beyond that.  It was almost seven, and Spock felt it was time for him to go to the bridge.  If Kirk continued his earlier pattern, he would be arriving at the bridge in the immediate future.  Spock preferred to be there first.  Purely for the purpose of allaying any suspicions Kirk might have regarding the possibility of their plotting against him, of course.  So they ended the meeting.

Sure enough, Kirk turned up on the bridge around seven o'clock, as he had done the two previous mornings.  Spock did not allude to the fact that he himself had arrived only minutes before, and the matter did not come up.  The rest of the bridge crew arrived promptly at eight for the beginning of Alpha Shift, and the morning progressed until ten o'clock.  At ten, the comm unit buzzed.

Kirk flipped the switch on the arm of the chair with a practiced air.  "Bridge.  Kirk here."

Harry's voice came over the line.  "Say, Jim, I've got a bit of a problem."

Kirk was amused.  So was the rest of the bridge crew.  Harry had been on the ship for a few days now.  His penchant for problems had already become legendary.

Kirk grinned.  "What did you do now, Harry?"

"I didn't do anything!" Harry protested.  "The problem is what I didn't do, in fact…"

"You want to explain that?" Kirk hinted.

"I didn't remember today's code to get into the docking bay.  So I can't get my bottle of saurian brandy out of the ship."

"Harry, it's ten in the morning!"

"It's for later.  Really.  I promise."

"Vhy don't you just tell him?" Chekov asked casually.

Kirk laughed.  "With you listening to every word?  I don't think so.  You'd be in my ship before I could say 'Russia.'  Turnabout is fair play, but turnabout intruders aren't any fun."

Chekov shrugged.  "I thought I vould try it."

"Course you would."  Kirk leaned towards the comm again. "I'll be right down, Harry."  Kirk flipped off the comm.  He glanced at Chekov.  "By the way, I don't blame you for trying.  It's what I would have done."  Then he walked to the turbolift, leaving Chekov to consider that not altogether welcome idea.

Down at the docking bay, Kirk unlocked the door for Harry.  The code turned out to be Magellan1521, making it doubly unfortunate that the bridge crew hadn't heard it.  Magellan is slightly more unusual of a name than Lewis, and it most likely would have proved useful in establishing Spock's sought after pattern.

Harry had a bit of trouble finding his brandy.  As he hunted around for it in his room, Kirk leaned against the doorframe, waiting.  And looking around.  Strangely enough, he hadn't been back in his own ship in the last three days, haven taken up the habit of sleeping in a spare crewman's quarters, eating in the Mess Hall, and spending his days on the bridge.  He found his impressions of his own ship, now that he was back on her, somewhat skewed.

"Seems kind of small, doesn't she?" Kirk commented, glancing at the fairly low ceiling.

"But big enough to lose things in," Harry said without looking up from his rummaging through his spare clothes.

"Kind of dark too."

"Dark enough to make finding things hard," Harry agreed, moving on to digging behind his bunk.

"And sort of shabby."

"Sort of messy," Harry acknowledged, voice muffled, upper body currently underneath his bunk.

"Not quite like the _Enterprise_."

"Not quite," Harry repeated, triumphantly pulling a bottle out from under his mattress.  "Found it!"

"Great," Kirk said noncommittally.

Object of his search found, Harry could think of other things again.  "So what were you talking about?"

"This ship.  It's not like the _Enterprise_."

"No," Harry affirmed.  "It isn't.  So what?"

"So…"  Kirk shrugged, not knowing the right words to put to his emotions.

Harry caught on, more or less, anyway.  "Hey, Jim…you're not getting, well, _attached_ to the _Enterprise_, are you?"

Kirk laughed outright at that.  "Attached?  _Me_?  Never.  Attachments just hold you back."

Harry was somewhat reassured.  "Okay.  'Cause she's a nice ship and all, but it's not like we're keeping her."

"Believe me," Kirk said, "I know that.  So are you done here?"

"All finished," Harry affirmed.

They exited through the docking bay, Kirk locking it behind them.  "Now try to remember the codes, alright?" Kirk admonished Harry.

Harry drew himself up to attention.  "I'll do my best to—"

He was cut off by a howling siren, accompanied by clanging klaxons, apparently intended to wake the dead.  Simultaneously the lights in the corridor began flashing red.

Harry jumped, and instinctively clutched his brandy tighter.  He looked around nervously.  "What's that?  Somebody pulled the fire alarm, maybe?"

Kirk, in contrast, was looking for all the world like a little boy who had just been handed a shiny new toy.  "_That_, my friend, is a red alert."

And then he was off and running for the bridge.

Kirk arrived on the bridge two minutes later, where he was greeted by flashing red lights, a tense bridge crew, and a Klingon bird-of-prey on the viewscreen.

"Klingons should not be in this part of the galaxy," Chekov spat.

"Do you have an id on it?" Kirk asked calmly, a suspicion growing in him.

"Sensors are picking up a name on the hull," Uhura responded.  "Seems to be called the…_Queen Mary_."  She frowned, puzzled.  "Klingons don't have a ship named the _Queen Mary_."

Kirk nodded, faintly smug.  "I thought so.  Stand down from red alert."

Every head swung around to look at him as though he had suddenly taken leave of his senses.

Kirk looked confidently back.  "You're right," he told Uhura.  "The Klingons don't have a ship named the _Queen Mary_.  And you're right too, Mr. Chekov.  Klingons shouldn't be in this part of the galaxy.  And they aren't.  Those aren't Klingons."

"But that is a Klingon bird-of—" Chekov began.

"And it's old," Kirk interrupted.  "Excellent condition and frequently remodified, but old.  At least twenty years.  The Klingons lost it in battle a few years ago.  Those are pirates."

"I do not see that that is a reason to stand down from red alert," Spock said dryly.

"Because I know them.  The Cambias brothers.  They're not going to attack us on the spot.  Although," Kirk added thoughtfully, "I'd keep shields up."

After another moment's hesitation, the bridge crew decided to accept it, and Uhura put the ship at yellow alert, as a sort of compromise.  After all, reducing from red to yellow was mostly just a matter of changing the lighting, and didn't really leave them any more open for attack.

"Thank you," Kirk said as he sat down in the center chair.  "Now if you would be so kind as to hail the _Queen Mary_?"

Uhura did.  The response was prompt, and two people the bridge crew could only assume were the Cambias brothers appeared on the screen.  They weren't Klingons.  Nor did they look especially like law-abiding citizens of Her Majesty.  Klingon ships have only one captain's chair, and it was occupied by one brother, the other standing next to him.  The seated man was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and young.  Though he was in the front and the first to catch one's eye, once you looked to the man behind him it was the second brother who took command of the scene.  He was not more than thirty, with neatly cut brown hair and a black shirt.  He was not the stereotype of the villain who looks as evil as he is, and was, all in all, not unattractive.  Except for his eyes.  They were dark, fathoms deep, and shifty, furtive.  Dangerous.  He was the one to watch.

Chekov decided that he would have to suffer a sever mental delusion to trust them or Kirk, but even so he distrusted Kirk less.

"Michael, Paul, how are you?" Kirk greeted them.  "I wouldn't have expected you in this neighborhood."

"We have some business," the seated man answered, somewhat vaguely.

"Have you, Paul?" Kirk commented, managing to get the idea across that he doubted they were there by coincidence, but without being so blatant that Paul could say anything about it.

Paul's eyes shifted away.  "Look to be in pretty good business yourself, Jim."

Kirk smiled, and spread his hands.  "Me?  I'm _wonderful_."

"Yes, well…that's fine…" Paul said, trailing off.

Michael, however, was less inclined to beat around the bush.  "We could talk for an hour, but let's get to the point," he said briskly.  "We want the ship."

Kirk didn't bat an eye.  "That's nice," he said calmly.  "You can't have her."

"We'll pay."

"Not as much as she's worth, of course."

"A fair price."

"Whose definition of fair?" Kirk asked.

"We had hoped to avoid, ah, 'aggressive bargaining,'" Paul put in.

Kirk laughed, not entirely humorously.  "You know me better than that."

"Very well then," Michael said without apparent regret.  "Damaged merchandise you can take is better than merchandise in perfect condition you can't buy."

The brothers clicked off the screen, and Kirk settled back into the command chair.  "_Now_ you can go to red alert," he announced.

As Uhura had been itching to do just that for the entire course of the conversation, she was quick to comply.

Kirk straightened in the chair, adrenaline racing despite his calm appearance, every nerve tingling.  "All right, I want forward viewscreen on, give me a view of that ship out there.  Shields are up, I assume?  I want phasers charged, and how many photon torpedoes have we got?  What do sensors say about the Cambias' ship?  I know they've made modifications, but don't ask me what.  And while you're at it, evasive maneuvers, full sublight…"  He stopped.  "_Well_?"

No one had moved.

"You're not going to just sit there, are you?" Kirk demanded.  "There's a battle brewing here, I need you to do your jobs!"

As senior officer, Spock took it upon himself to answer.  "I fail to see any reason why we should," he said flatly.

"Why you should—you don't want _them_ over here, do you?" Kirk asked incredulously.

"One pirate or another.  Vhat's the difference?" Chekov asked.

"Notice me sitting here _not killing_ anyone?  You don't really think they'd—you don't want to know what happened to the Klingons who used to crew that ship, I'll tell you _that_."

The bridge crew was unmoved.  And unmoving.

Kirk took a deep breath, and when he continued it was calmly.  "All right.  Fine.  You don't trust me, I got that, and I don't blame you.  Like I said, I wouldn't trust me as far as I can throw me.  But how can it possibly be a trick to want you to defend your own ship?"  No one answered and he kept talking.  "We're going to have a battle on our hands any minute now.  The only reason we haven't been blown out of the sky already is because Paul's dragging his feet, but Michael will have him going in another minute.  And then it all boils down to this.  You don't have to help me, I can't make you.  But I also can't do this alone, and my people don't know this ship even if I could get them up here in time.  So I need you.  Because otherwise, we're all going to die, that's the simple truth.  Or we can work together and make it through this.

"It's up to you."

[ominous music…]  So, what will the _Enterprise_ crew do?  Tune in next week!  I'll try to post again soon!

And for the record, the ship is named the _Queen Mary_ for three reasons.  One, I thought it was kind of a funny name for a pirate ship, two, it was the name of the Orion ship in _Prime Directive_, and three and most importantly, I visited the real _Queen Mary_ once and the ghost show freaked me out.  So I borrowed the name for the enemy ship.  And I borrowed the name Michael Cambias from…well, let's see if anyone knows.  If not, I'll mention it next chapter.

~~~***~~~

Mimi6: I think we all love Johnny Depp…a nine-hour Johnny Depp movie marathon is lots of fun, I know.  And the space battle will be arriving promptly next chapter.

Whatshername: Well, you don't HAVE to say brilliant again, but _I_ don't mind…

RadarPLO: Yes, you are jumping the gun, but yes, it is an interesting thought.  All will be revealed with time.

Vest-Button: I'm glad you approve.  : )  I thought it would be a fun angle to pursue.

Mzsnaz: I'm so glad you liked the "looking-up" speech!  I wrote that ages upon ages ago and have been saving it until I got up to that point.  My muse was working overtime on that one.

Bug, Hobbit of the Black Pearl: I wish I was on the Black Pearl…not today, today's Sunday, but tomorrow, because tomorrow's Monday…anyway, glad you like, and he is a wee bit like Jack…I don't know how or why, I swear.

MySchemingMind: The girls are not here because I decided a romance would be distracting from the important things.  But rest assured, he has many girls in his past.  He's Kirk, after all.  And I love singing pirate shantys.  "Hey-ho, we'll go, anywhere the wind is blowing!  Hoist the sails and _sing_…!  Sailing for adventure on the big-blue-wet…_thing_!"

The Tribble Wrangler: I have a friend who's obsessed with crowsnests.  Don't ask.  And one reason they stumbled over the subject of Spock was because I tripped and left a line off.  Whoops.  That has now been corrected.  And the goal wasn't to throw him out, it was "I love you, Jimmy, but you're wasting your life, go fix that."  More and more and more and a little extra too…I think I'm going to have that, actually…

Unrealistic: Wait…the one thing getting you through the fic?  You mean it's not entertaining for its own sake?  The ego-which-I-do-not-have isn't letting me accept that as your meaning.  Hmm.  And tell your brother for me that Kirk, pirate or not, is still way better than Picard and the goal is not and never was to reduce Kirk and bust Picard up a level.  Hah.

Emp: Catchy, isn't it?  Love the away-message, by the way.  The pirate one.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: MINE!  All MINE!  Sigh…no, it's not.  Roux is.  No, he's not in this chapter, or even this universe, or even Star Trek, and basically he's completely irrelevant.  But he's MINE, regardless of what certain producers might say, where as Star Trek is not.

Random note: Michael Cambias is the town psycho on "All My Children," who was recently murdered and, since the entire town hated him, pretty much every character is a suspect.  It's my mom's soap opera, although lately I've become hooked.  Congrats to MySchemingMind and Mzsnaz!

Relevant note: A new chapter!  And cliffhanger resolution!  Everyone be happy.  I am.  Oh yes…POTC manages to slip itself in a bit…you'll see.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It's up to you.

The words hung there, in the air above the bridge, waiting, demanding, to be answered.

It was Uhura who spoke next.  "We have six photon torpedoes.  Shields went up when we first sighted the Klingon ship; they're still up."

Kirk gave her a grateful look.  "Thank you."

"Evasive maneuvers, full sublight," Sulu said quietly, repeating Kirk's earlier request and putting action to words.

"The Klingon ship is heavily shielded; consequently sensors are unable to determine anything of useful detail regarding the make up of the ship," Spock said calmly, successfully conveying the air that there was nothing going on that was at all unusual.

After Spock's words there was a long, waiting silence.  Finally Chekov scowled, and grudgingly announced, "Phasers are charged.  Do you vant me to target any particular system of the enemy vessel?"

Kirk grinned, his appreciation evident in his eyes.  "Now that's more like it."  He rubbed his hands together.  "All right, let's go.  Don't target just yet, but keep those phasers charged.  I need a view of that ship out there."

Someone, he couldn't quite remember who controlled that, Sulu maybe, adjusted the screen and brought up a shot of the _Queen Mary_.

"They are charging their weapons," Spock announced, reading sensor reports as they scrolled by at an impossibly rapid pace on his screen.

"Jump her to warp two," Kirk ordered.  "Looks like Michael finally got Paul to move."

Sulu complied with the order, the ship shuddering as she passed into warp.  The view on the screen readjusted to show the _Queen Mary_ giving pursuit.

"The Queen Mary is traveling at warp three.  Approximate time to disruptor range is 1.203962 minutes," Spock reported.

"Approximate," Kirk repeated, and shook his head.  No time to pursue that though.  "Take her up to warp five."

Sulu adjusted his controls, and the _Queen Mary_ fell behind.  Only for a moment though.  Then the Klingon ship gathered itself and leaped after its prey."

"The Queen Mary is now at warp 6.2.  new estimated time to disruptor range is 31.232 seconds."

"All right…" Kirk said, speaking slowly and thinking fast.

Kirk was jolted out of his thoughts approximately ten seconds later as the ship rocked under a barrage of disruptor fire.

"Evasive!" Kirk ordered, stubbornly hanging onto the chair.  "Spock, what happened to those 30 seconds?"

"Obviously they have made modifications to adjust the range of the Klingon disruptors," Spock mused.  "Interesting."

"Well, now we know.  Damage?"

"Minimal damage, shields absorbed most of the impact," Uhura reported.  "Aft shields at 84 percent."

"The _Queen Mary_ is closing again," Spock announced.

"Drop her out of warp, full stop," Kirk ordered.

"Full st…oh!  Right.  That."  Sulu nodded, mindful of their own battle with Kirk, and stopped the ship.

Unfortunately, the Cambiases didn't fall for it.  They kept going, shot past and curved around, staying out of phaser range the whole time.

"It didn't vork," Chekov said, disappointed.

Kirk nodded, unsurprised.  "Thought they might have heard of it.  Guess I'll have to try something new."  He grinned.  "Take her to warp seven."

And thus began a new phase in the battle.  The _Enterprise_ phaser banks fired from the saucer section.  The photon torpedoes fired from the aft.  The Starfleet officers knew this, obviously.  Kirk knew this as well.  Unfortunately, the Cambiases had picked his information up somewhere also.  So while Kirk wanted very much to get the Klingon ship in front of them long enough for one good phaser blast, the Cambiases weren't going to let it happen.  For a straight ten minutes there were no shots fired, as the two ships sketched a sort of synchronized pattern through space.  As fast as the _Enterprise_ maneuvered, the _Queen Mary_ maneuvered just as quickly to stay firmly planted on the _Enterprise_'s side, at right angles to the Starfleet ship's phasers.

Kirk frowned, brow furrowed in thought.  "We can't turn a right angle, can we?"

"I can curve her pretty tight," Sulu offered.

"No, she can match us at curving."  Kirk came to an abrupt decision.  "The warp nacelles work independently, don't they?  I mean, you can stop on and keep going with the other one, right?"

Sulu stared at him.  "Theoretically."

"Good," Kirk said without explanation.  "Reduce speed to warp two."

Sulu looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then turned back to his board and slowed the ship.  A beat later the Klingon ship slowed as well, continuing to match the _Enterprise_'s maneuvers.

Kirk leaned forward in the chair.  "Now.  Mr. Chekov, be ready to fire those phasers.  Mr. Sulu, on my word I want you to stop the right nacelle.  Two seconds later, halt the left nacelle.  Everyone…hang on.  Ready?"

The bridge crew stared at him.  "Has this ever been done before?" Sulu asked.

Kirk grinned, a rakish, roguish grin.  "There's a first time for everything.  _Ready_?"

Sulu gulped, and nodded, grasping his controls.

"All right…go," Kirk said simply.

It was a good think they hung on.  The right nacelle stopped cold and the left going, sending the hapless ship hung between them careening through space.  All occupants and everything not bolted down were flung towards the right, Sulu frantically punching keys to stop the left nacelle in the desperate hope that that would somehow restore order to the universe.  Which it did.  Power was cut to the left nacelle and the ship came to a shuddering halt, straining at every seam to keep structural integrity intact.  The Klingon ship filled the viewscreen.

"Fire," Kirk ordered crisply, apparently unperturbed by the wild ride they'd just come through.

Chekov swallowed hard and fired phasers.  The scarlet beams lanced out and struck the _Queen Mary_, where the Cambias brothers were still busy trying to figure out what Kirk had just done to the _Enterprise_.  They soon had other things on their minds.

"That went well," Kirk commented cheerfully.

All around him the bridge crew, with the probable exception of Spock, were still trying to get their stomachs and/or breathing in order.

"That vas _supposed_ to happen like that?" Chekov croaked.

"What _was_ that anyway?" Sulu asked faintly.

Kirk leaned back in the chair.  "That, my friend, was clubhauling."  He considered.  "Or as close as you can get to it in a _Constitution_-class starship, anyway."

"Well, it was new," Sulu acknowledged.

"Actually it was old," Kirk corrected.  "Very old.  They use to do that maneuver on ships _many_ years back."

"_Daedalus_-class ships?" Sulu guessed.

Kirk shook his head.  "Try sailing ships.  On the sea.  They'd drop the anchor on one side.  It would catch, and the ship would turn suddenly to present a new side to their adversary.  In our case the stopped right nacelle served as the anchor, while the left nacelle propelled forward and sent us into a sharp turn, enabling us to bring our phasers to bear on the _Queen Mary_.  Speaking of which, how are they?"

"Shields at 5.32 percent, disruptors are entirely inoperational, warp engines are severely damaged, exact extent impossible to say," Spock reported.

Kirk nodded.  "Obviously I need to remember that maneuver."

"Mr. Scott is calling the bridge," Uhura announced.

"Tell him I'll talk to him in a minute.  Right now, I need to talk to the Cambiases, please."

Soon the bridge of the Klingon ship was back on the screen.  Things were slightly different from before.  Now there was billowing black smoke in the background, alarms were clanging wildly, and only Michael was in view.

"Like I said: you can't have the _Enterprise_," Kirk said calmly, just as though that statement had been made only a moment before with no intervening activity between.

Michael glared at Kirk, as though he could reach out across the empty black void of space and murder him with a single venomous Look.  "How did you _do_ that?" he hissed.

Kirk crossed his arms, considering.  "Well…" he drawled.  "One, I'm brilliant.  And two, I'm working with one hell of a bridge crew."

"Why don't you go to hell?" Michael snarled.

"Careful," Kirk warned, enjoying himself immensely.  "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to insult someone _after_ they've beaten you in battle?"

Michael took on a bitter expression.  "And what are you going to do with us?"

"That's up to you."  Kirk's face hardened.  "You knew we were out here, and you weren't at all surprised to see me.  I want to know how you knew."

Michael's eyes shifted.  "What's in it for me?"

"Your ship.  I could go into warp without a backward glance.  Or I could seize your ship."  Kirk leaned forward.  "So.  How did you know?"

Michael shrugged.  Fair deal.  No skin off my nose."  And then he said one word.  "Charlie."

Kirk nodded.  "Not surprised.  By the news, or by your obviously deep loyalties."

"Why don't you go to—"

"I know, I know."  Kirk shook his head.  "I'll see you, Michael.  Good luck."

"You mean that?"

Kirk shrugged.  "Not really.  I was being polite.  _Enterprise_ out."

Uhura obligingly ended the transmission, and the bridge was quiet for a long moment.

"You know," Kirk said, breaking the silence, "I meant that.  You are one hell of a bridge crew."  He glanced at the back corner.  "That's a compliment by the way, Mr. Spock."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I may be brilliant but I couldn't've done it without you.  So thanks."

Spock's expression did not change.  Sulu and Uhura looked pleased in spite of themselves.  Chekov appeared troubled.

After a moment Chekov scowled and, apparently all on one breath, said, "I still think you are a rat and a pirate and a cossack, and I am completely against you and you ought to be in the brig, but…Captain Lowell could not have done _that_," he finished.

A slow smile spread across Kirk's face.  "Thanks," he said quietly.

"This does not mean I approve of you," Chekov said hastily.

"Of course not," Kirk agreed.  "But for not trusting each other, we did pretty damn good."

"Well," Spock said.

Kirk blinked.  "Well what?"

"The correct grammar is well.  'We did well.'"

Kirk nodded.  "Of course.  I'll remember that.  Just like I'll remember to throw Charlie in the brig within the hour.  But first, is Mr. Scott still on the line?"

"Yes.  And he doesn't sound happy," Uhura warned.

"Put him through anyway," Kirk directed, then turned his attention to the comm.  "Something I can do for you, Mr. Scott?"

An angry Scottish burr filled the air.  "What is going _on_?  Ye can't just do things like that!  It's a bloody miracle the ship didn't pull into a thousand pieces with that maneuver!  What the devil were ye trying to do to my _ship_?"

Kirk leaned back in the chair.  "Why Mr. Scott, it seems simple enough.  Obviously I was trying to save her from falling into the hands of dangerous pirates."

~~~***~~~

Wedge: Hehe, I liked that quote.  I had to fiddle with it to get that phrase in.  S'okay about not reviewing the last one, FF is no doubt to blame.  It usually is.

RadarPLO: I suppose they trusted him.  But not very far.  Doing their usual jobs to defend the ship isn't too far out on a limb, regardless of who's giving the orders.

MySchemingMind: Exactly.  They don't trust him, but they kind of like the lug.  And congrats on guessing the soap opera reference.

Mimi6: That was review 4…I think.  Anyway, hope you liked the space battle, more on Kirk's past in about [calculates] three…no, four chapters.  I might post a couple of those together though, we'll see.

Emp: Well…know you learned what happened!

Know Thyself (one name indeed): Thank you for the very amusing review.  And fair's fair, you distracted me from my history!  Though I learned extra history for this, so maybe it evens out.

Unrealistic: Oh good, you're enjoying it.  And funny you should mention Lowell.  They start to remember he exists next chapter.

Mzsnaz: I'd have an award if I could think of anything that could be given via the internet.  Aside from congratulations, I mean.  And Kirk's still planning to sell the _Enterprise_…though he hasn't been called upon to do that just yet, so we shall see…

Bug: I think they reached pretty much the same conclusion as you.  And I'll try to post again soon so you won't be waiting too much longer. : )

Hanakin222: Actually, I find it comforting to know that the code wasn't quite as obvious as everyone else seems to think.  And you're not the last one to solve it.  The crew's still in the dark, after all.

'Tis all.  Must go, have much homework, but next chapter should be up in the relatively near future.  [crosses fingers]


	20. Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: Star Trek is MINE!  ALL MINE!  Or not, whichever.

Um…nothing in particular to say, I don't think…school has been somewhat lighter lately (it's a miracle, I tell you) so I should have time to be posting quite frequently. ^_^

CHAPTER TWENTY

After attempting, with marginal success, to placate the rather upset Mr. Scott, Kirk moved on to his next order of business: Dealing with Charlie.  That in mind, he stood up from the center chair.

"Lt. Uhura, would you mind calling Lieutenant Commander Gray for me?" Kirk requested.

"All right.  What do you want me to tell him?" she asked.

"Just ask him to send a couple of guards to the brig.  I'll bring Charlie myself," Kirk said grimly.  He walked to the turbolift, the doors opening at his approach, then paused on the threshold and glanced back.  "You should be very happy, Mr. Spock," he told him.  "You finally get to have someone in the brig."

Spock's expression did not change.  "Happiness is a human emotion with which I am totally unfamiliar."

Kirk looked at him.  "I hope not," he said honestly, then stepped into the turbolift.

*  *  *

Thirty minutes later, Lt. Cmdr. Gray and two security guards were standing around outside one cell in the brig.

"So…why are we here?" one guard asked.

"Because Kirk asked us to be here," Gray answered.

"Why are we doing what _he_ wants us to do?"

"Because rumor has it that there's going to be a Shark in this cell, and whether we put him there or Kirk puts him there, what counts is that he's there," Gray said firmly, daring the guard to question that.

The guard frowned, and struck a compromise between questioning his superior officer and being quiet.  "Seems kind of funny…do you think he's really going to do that?"

His question was answered almost at once, first by the sound of footsteps and then by the people making that sound.  Kirk strode down the corridor at a rapid pace, hauling the stumbling Charlie along by his collar.  Charlie obviously hadn't come willingly; he was developing a bruise over one eye, and Kirk's lip was bleeding.  Nor was Charlie coming along any too happily now.

Charlie slowed his already slow pace as they got closer to the cell.  "_Walk_," Kirk ordered, jerking him forward by a yank on his collar.

Kirk pulled him up to the cell, slapped the controls to lower the forcefield, and shoved Charlie in.  The unfortunate pirate sprawled within, twisting around to keep a glare on Kirk.

Kirk glared right back.  "That," he informed him, "was stupid."

"You had it coming," Charlie hissed.  "And it'd be worth it if I could've derailed your _wonderful_ little plans."

"That's what's stupid," Kirk said flatly.  "So I wouldn't let you take over the Sharks.  So I hit you.  So what.  Everything's an equal share.  You'd have gotten just as rich from this as me."

"Like hell."

Kirk ignored him, slapped the forcefield back up, and turned towards Gray.  He smiled pleasantly.  "If there was a brig and a guard on my ship, I wouldn't impose on you, but as things are it's either throw him out an airlock or find someone to watch him.  And I didn't think you'd really mind guarding a pirate."

Gray nodded solemnly, the barest crinkling around his eyes spoiling his apparent levity.  "We'd be glad to.  It will be good preparation for when we have all of you."

Kirk grinned.  "Excellent."

"Of course," Gray continued, "it would be easier if we had a couple of phasers…"

Kirk shook his head.  "Points for trying, but no."

"It was a shot in the dark anyway."

Kirk nodded, then glanced at Charlie.  "Anything you have to say for yourself?"

Charlie was on his feet again by now, and gave Kirk a defiant look.  "You're not going to solve anything by throwing me in here.  I knew you'd notice I used the communications on our ship eventually, so I took advantage of my moment.  The Cambias brothers aren't the only ones I contacted.  By now, the whole network knows."

Gray was listening.  "What's he talking about?" he asked.

Kirk frowned.  "The saying goes that only gossip travels faster than warp ten.  By now every criminal this side of Rigel knows we're out here.  A starship is _very_ good game, and an awful lot are going to want a piece of this for themselves."  Kirk was silent for a moment, then shrugged.  "Which will no doubt makes things interesting.  Anyway, I've got things to do.  Thanks for guarding him for me."

"One pirate's better than none," Gray answered.

Kirk nodded an acknowledgment, and began to walk down the corridor.  It was as he was walking away that he overheard the two guards comment to each other.

"Can you imagine Captain Lowell bodily throwing anyone into the brig?"

"No.  Not really."

"Me neither.  Too bad."        

Kirk grinned, and continued down the corridor with a slightly lighter step.

*  *  *

Sickbay had just gotten things back in control.  Which actually hadn't taken very long.  Wildly careening ships sent people banging into bulkheads, but bruises and a few broken bones weren't too hard to fix.

But McCoy didn't let that fact stop him from greeting Kirk with, "You did it again."

"It wasn't my fault," Kirk said immediately, without stopping to check what he was accused of.

"Every time you get going with your crazy maneuvering, _I_ have to go to work," McCoy complained.

"Which is just what I'm here about," Kirk announced.

"And here I thought it was a purely social call," McCoy said dryly, leaning back against a counter.

"That too.  After all, I haven't been in here yet today."

"I noticed."

"Really?  I'm touched."

McCoy rolled his eyes, but Kirk was fairly certain that he was at least somewhat amused, a fact that pleased Kirk considerably.

"Anyway," Kirk continued, "I'm here officially too.  Thought I'd come see you about the casualty reports."

McCoy blinked.  "Really?"

"Well, yeah.  Even if I don't have to report them to Starfleet, for obvious reasons, I still want to know what they are."

McCoy shrugged.  "All right.  24 minor injuries, one critical.  No dead.  Mostly people were tossed into bulkheads.  Patched up a lot of broken bones today."

"Well that's fitting," Kirk said, expression grave, eyes dancing.

McCoy gave him a look and let it go.  "Nineteen are already back at their posts, five more will be tomorrow."

"Impressive."

McCoy shrugged.  "Broken bones and bruises.  Any simple country doctor could have handled it, when you come right down to it."

"Still.  And thanks for telling me."  Kirk started for the door.  "I'll see you around, Bones."

McCoy was surprised.  "Not going to hang around for twenty minutes and poke into everything?"

"No, I'm going to engineering.  Thought I'd see about a damage report."

McCoy's expression was thoughtful.  "Hmm."

Kirk looked at him quizzically.  "What?  Oh wait, I know.  Starship captains don't do this, right?"

McCoy shrugged.  "Lowell doesn't, anyway."  He glanced towards the row of beds at the back of Sickbay, one of which the unconscious Lowell was still occupying.  "Maybe I'll mention that to him.  When he wakes up."

Kirk smiled.  "I'll see you, Bones," he said, and continued to the door.

McCoy nodded.  "See you."

The doors were opening and Kirk was stepping out when McCoy abruptly remembered something.

"And it's McCoy, you know!"

Kirk looked back.  "I knew that."  And then he continued on down the corridor.

*  *  *

All in all, Kirk's reception in Sickbay hadn't been particularly unfriendly.  True, McCoy hadn't exactly welcomed him in and invited him to stay awhile, but he hadn't given him any particularly unfriendly comments either, nor had he tried to throw him out.  Things were not quite the same in Engineering.

Scott gave him one look.  "Get out."

Kirk held up his hands in a placating gesture.  "Can we talk?"

"No.  Get out."

"I really think you'd like me, if you got to know me a little.  Instead of, you know, constantly ordering me out."

"Get out of my engine room!"

"Give me a damage report and I'll leave," Kirk promised.

Scott stared at him.  "What?"

"Damage report.  All I want is a damage report.  Did I really tear the ship in half, or is she going to pull through?  Though if the ship was really in half," Kirk mused, "we wouldn't be having this conversation.  Anyway, how is she?"

"Why do you care?" Scotty asked suspiciously.

Kirk shrugged.  "Because she's a beautiful ship.  Why would I need another reason?"

Scott studied him for a long moment, then accepted it.  It wasn't a hard thing to accept really.  Scott had more trouble believing it when people _didn't_ appreciate the _Enterprise_.  "Well, that sharp throw right didn't do any favors to the structure, and the inertial dampeners were strained a mite more'n is healthy, but I expect we'll be able to get her fully back in shape soon."

"Excellent," Kirk approved.

Scott looked at him thoughtfully.  "So you really came down here just for a damage report then?"

"Sure."  When Scott's expression remained thoughtful, Kirk grinned.  "Don't tell me.  Lowell never does that."

Scott shook his head.  "No.  Never does.  Mayhap he should some time.  But how did you know that?"

"I keep hearing things like that," Kirk told him, then flipped up the collar of his jacket and headed out to the corridor, back to the bridge.

~~~***~~~

Wedge: A lot of people are picky about grammar, it seems.  My mom is sometimes.  I'll be telling her something and I'll say "me and my friend [insert name]" and she'll say "my friend and I," and I'll nod and say, "right, me and my friend…" and continue talking.  Anyway…it seemed reasonable that Spock would latch onto the grammar and ignore the message.

Whatshername: The end line was my favorite too.  And POTC will be poking in a couple more times, I think, though not in the immediate future.  And Trekkie Soul is playing dead.  Still.

Mzsnaz: If the Chevy had an anchor, it could probably do it.  But, um…why would you want to?  And note that Kirk's line was "for not trusting each other, we did pretty damn good."  They're aren't _really_ trusting him.  Not very far anyway.

Mimi6: If you didn't catch on from the chapter, Charlie was the guy Kirk hit in the Mess Hall a few chapters back.  And I love Pirates too.

Bug: I guess Scotty doesn't really care if Kirk's his senior officer or not…mess with the ship, you will be yelled at.  : )

MyScheming Mind: A complete load of dilithium crystals…I love that!  And I love reviews that are specific, which yours was, so thank you!  Though mind you, I love all reviews…but especially ones that pull out specific points to comment on.

PearlGirl: Yay, you're reading this!  I've always kind of thought it a shame that you and Alania weren't.  Glad to see you're onboard.  And as to Stella, you are welcome to her, with my blessings.

Solidchristian-88: I would love to know what some of your theories are, I think that would be fascinating.  And who knows, you might not be completely off the mark.  It's possible.

'Tis all.  More soon.


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. Nada. Zip. Zero. But I love it anyway.  
  
A slightly different chapter from our last one. But keep that last one in mind...it's coming back next chapter. So's Lowell. Not conscious, mind you, just...back in the general consciousness. Kinda. After that preview of coming attractions, onward to this chapter.  
  
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE  
  
As was his custom, Mr. Spock entered the Mess Hall at precisely 6:20 in the evening, PADD tucked under his arm. The room was unusually quiet. An average number of people, but they seemed more inclined to speak quietly than to shout. Spock surmised that this was in response to the pirates' presence aboard the ship. He found the change in volume refreshing. On slightly closer examination, he also noted that, on average, the apparent emotional well being of those present was higher than it had been in the last four days. Most likely a response to the successful encounter with the Queen Mary earlier in the day. Interesting.  
  
At the replicators, Spock ordered three varieties of Terran fruit, with a slice of bread on the side, and picked up his tray. He scanned the room, and located an empty table near the back. He maneuvered around the tables, set down his tray and his PADD, and sat down to eat his supper, while reading a paper from a research facility on Vulcan regarding the effects of several groundbreaking experiments on single-cellular organisms.  
  
* * *  
  
Approximately ten minutes later, McCoy wandered into the Mess Hall. The fact that this was very nearly the same time he'd eaten dinner the day before the Enterprise encountered the Sharks was pure chance, not intent. In fact, he didn't really notice the time. He did notice that the Mess Hall wasn't as loud as usual. The Sharks were elsewhere, and the Starfleet crew was quiet. They looked to be a more contented lot than they'd been for several days, a change McCoy approved. Morale had been low, and understandably so, for the last few days, and it was nice to see it picking up. Never mind that that was as much Kirk's influence, by way of the battle, as anyone's.  
  
McCoy set aside the situation of morale, and went to get his dinner. He got a steak from the replicators, then headed towards the back of the room. As he moved around the obstacle course of tables and chairs he came upon Spock's table. The Vulcan was sitting alone, eating his fruit and bread, and reading something, no doubt some deep chemical tract. As usual. McCoy rolled his eyes, and continued on to join some of his medical staff at a table in the back corner.  
  
* * *  
  
Spock's dinner, and reading, was interrupted by the plunking down of a tray across from him. He looked up from his PADD.  
  
Jim Kirk swung a leg over the bench and sat down across the table from Spock. "Mind if I join you?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?" Spock asked.  
  
"Not really." Kirk picked up half his chicken sandwich. "So, Spock. How've you been?"  
  
Spock considered how to answer. "I assume you are attempting to ascertain my general state of mind and/or health in the immediate past?"  
  
Kirk paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and looked at Spock a little oddly. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I was going for. I think."  
  
"Ah." Spock nodded. "I am well."  
  
Kirk nodded. He waited for Spock to continue. Spock didn't. Kirk shook his head ruefully. "That doesn't give me much of an opening for conversation, you know."  
  
Spock's eyebrow rose.  
  
"Okay, let me try again. I'm fine. What's new with you?"  
  
"That is an odd question to ask. You are aware of all news aboard this ship. You are directly responsible for the majority of it."  
  
Kirk sighed. "You aren't supposed to analyze the question, Mr. Spock. Where I'm from, we call it small talk."  
  
"Very small," Spock said disapprovingly.  
  
Kirk stared at him. "Was that a joke?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh." Kirk shrugged. "Well, miracles are generally considered rare."  
  
"I do not see the connection."  
  
"You wouldn't," Kirk agreed without explanation.  
  
"I need to return to the bridge. I should check the results of a hypothetical experiment I was running on the computer," Spock said, standing up.  
  
Kirk watched with an amused expression as Spock gathered his tray and his PADD. The Vulcan was about to go when Kirk finally commented.  
  
"A cop-out if ever I heard one," Kirk said quietly.  
  
Spock stopped. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"You don't want to talk to me, so you came up with a fairly flimsy excuse to leave."  
  
Kirk was completely correct and they both knew it. Spock, however, was not willing to admit that Kirk had been able to read him so easily. "I said nothing about not wanting to speak with you."  
  
Kirk pounced on it. "Then you do want to talk to me."  
  
"I did not say that either," Spock said cautiously.  
  
"Seems simple to me. Either you don't want to talk to me, or you don't not want to talk to me."  
  
Spock blinked. And after a long moment he sat down again. "It appears that it would be easier to attempt to talk to you than to attempt to not talk to you."  
  
Kirk grinned. "Makes perfect sense. So what do you want to talk about?"  
  
"I want to go back to the bridge. You are the one who wants to maintain a conversation."  
  
Kirk sighed, his first hint of frustration. "Don't you ever just talk to anyone?"  
  
"It would be very difficult to perform my duties aboard this ship without speaking."  
  
"I mean talking. Don't you have any, y'know, friends?"  
  
The most effective defense is often a good offense. Spock turned the question back on Kirk. "Do you?"  
  
Kirk shifted. "That's beside the point. I was asking about you. I mean, I've kind of noticed, just in passing mind you, that you don't seem to spend much time with anybody. Are you friends with anyone in this crew?"  
  
"Crews aboard ships do not always maintain close interrelations. For instance, are you friends with any of the Sharks?"  
  
"We're not talking about me!" Kirk said shortly. He took a breath. "You're first officer. How about Lowell, are you friends with him? And you're sitting alone because he's in a coma in Sickbay?"  
  
Spock seemed a little puzzled. "Captain Lowell is my superior officer."  
  
"So what?"  
  
"That would inevitably necessitate professional distance.  
  
"Not inevitably," Kirk argued. "But I'm guessing it does here."  
  
"Correct. And yes, inevitably."  
  
"Not inevitably."  
  
"Are you, for example, friends with your second in command?"  
  
"I said, this isn't about me!" Kirk snapped. "How about...how about Dr. McCoy?" he asked, carefully not looking at Spock. He'd only heard one side of this, and was curious about the other. "Seems like you would talk the same language as far as science goes, friends with him?"  
  
Spock's jaw muscles had tightened almost imperceptibly at the mention of the Doctor. "No."  
  
"Well, why not?" Kirk asked bluntly.  
  
"The Doctor is exceptionally emotional, even for a human," Spock said, with the closest thing to irritation Kirk had ever heard from him.  
  
Kirk knew enough to drop that issue. He'd expected some response of that sort anyway. "So you really don't have any friends?"  
  
Spock was becoming just a little annoyed. Only a little. He was a Vulcan after all, but it was still undeniable that some certain annoyance was present. Maybe it was the talking about Dr. McCoy that had done it. "Why does my social life fascinate you?"  
  
Kirk shrugged. "I'm just making conversation. You want to talk about something else?"  
  
Spock took the opening. "You still have not answered any of my questions."  
  
Kirk glared at him, at once defensive. "We weren't talking about me."  
  
"We are now," Spock pointed out.  
  
"I don't want to talk about me."  
  
"Your reluctance to discuss the matter seems to suggest a negative answer," Spock noted.  
  
"It does not," Kirk snapped.  
  
"Yes, it does. I have observed humans for multiple years. A refusal to discuss a matter generally means it is uncomfortable to them. I see no reason why you should be uncomfortable talking about your friends. Therefore I must assume that you do not have—"  
  
"They're my gang!"  
  
"And is that synonymous with 'friends?'" Spock asked calmly.  
  
Kirk started to snap that yes, it was, everyone knew that, but stopped. He sighed. "No. It's not," he admitted. "They're not my friends. Well, Harry is, maybe. The rest of them aren't. It's all right as long as we stay on top, they're all right to hang with, we like each other I guess, but...you don't have to worry about friends shooting you in the back as soon as your luck turns." And there was the crucial difference. Because he had no doubt about his own fate if he weren't as good at his job as he was.  
  
"And do you have friends elsewhere?" Spock asked, just as though they were discussing nothing more personal than a chemical equation.  
  
"We're not having this conversation, okay?" Kirk said sharply. "It's over, we're not discussing it anymore."  
  
"You do not," Spock concluded. "And yet you find it strange that I do not. Interesting."  
  
"No, I don't have friends, okay? I admit it! But what's strange about that? I'm a pirate, damn it! I can't afford any! You make friends, you get ties to people, it holds you back because you have to worry about someone else. I only worry about one person, and that's me, Jim Kirk."  
  
"A not unreasonable rationale considering your lifestyle," Spock admitted.  
  
"Yeah. Sure. So what's your problem?" Kirk demanded. "You're on a starship. You don't have to worry about staying one trick ahead of the law. Why don't you have any friends?"  
  
Spock's eyebrow rose. "Why would I want any?"  
  
Poor Spockie, I know.  
  
~~~***~~~  
  
MySchemingMind: I just realized what a long review that was...thank you! And I can see where you're coming from with the "love at first sight story" although it does sound kind of funny to say it. Absolutely though, Kirk's real love was always the ship. I never planned that to be a major factor in here, that's kind of become something Kirk pushed, in the sense of characters writing stories themselves. And that's a very good insight that Kirk's trying to figure out Lowell. That's coming back. And there's no such thing as reviewing too much!  
  
Mimi6: Let's just say that Lowell is a somewhat, um, different captain. He'd probably do very well on a starbase somewhere. Kirk, however, has a different attitude about captains, and it is making him kind of likeable. Which isn't always a good thing, since he is still on the opposite side of the table from the Starfleet crew.  
  
Alania: For a long time the summary said "mild swearing" with you in mind. I'm glad you started reading this! And feel free to laugh, parts of it are supposed to be funny. Even serious stories have comic relief sometimes. And as for Lowell, McCoy said in chapter 11 (you probably just missed the line, I do that all the time) that Lowell's suffering from an injury to the lower cranium. It's treatable, but it requires bulky machinery that starbases have and starships don't. Once he can be got to a medical facility on a planet or starbase he'll be fine. Until then...[shrug] he's out.  
  
PearlGirl: I knew I forgot to answer someone's question last time. About Kirk's maneuvers. The clubhauling, obviously, was from Pirates. The Cochrane Deceleration Maneuver really was created by Garth of Izar at the battle of Axanar, at least according to the book Garth of Izar (which sounds excellent but was actually kind of disappointing because I was hoping for an epic spanning his entire career and it, well, wasn't). And I could swear Kirk used it somewhere in First Frontier, but I've never been able to flip through and find it...  
  
Emp: But the funny part is, there's always something new to wait to find out...until the last chapter anyway, which is a while away yet.  
  
Mzsnaz: "Winning them over." Very accurate. Spock's comment about happiness was actually an afterthought, but once I thought of it I was very glad I did.  
  
Jennifer: Perfectly valid point. Can you believe that Kirk might convince himself that he was going to sell the Enterprise? Whether he can go through with it or not remains to be seen. Glad you like the story!  
  
Whatshername: Don't apologize for forgetting about Lowell. Lowell's forgettable. I worked hard to make his impression one of absolute BLAH, then knocked him out at the...opportune moment. And otherwise, that review was very long and rambling, wasn't it? Glad you liked though!  
  
AliciaF: Yeah, I know...Trekkie Soul. I'll kick it sometime soon.  
  
Cyrogenie: Kirk as Captain Jack Sparrow...I acknowledge the resemblance and don't blame you for seeing it but I swear that wasn't the goal! "Unwilling crew." I like that phrase, it says it nicely. Glad you're enjoying the story!  
  
Samantha: "Love/hate dichotomy." Nice. Glad you're back, I missed your reviews! Hope life improves for you soon!  
  
Unrealistic: Deliberately set up an argument...I like that idea. That's really very amusing. Thanks!  
  
All right, time to go. There's a math project looming. G'bye 'til next time! 


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Disclaimer: The below-mentioned characters are used with love, admiration and affection, and absolutely no harmful intent, malicious thoughts, or official permission.

Y'know what?  I felt like posting.  So I did.  I would have been much better off if I'd wandered off to wash my hair at a decent hour instead of continuing on the computer, but my muse wouldn't listen to me.  She thinks it's more important to post, and the hair can be dealt with later.  Perhaps you agree.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

            It was almost eleven when McCoy finally finished straightening out his files to get everything up to date.  Even broken bones have to be entered in medical records.  Finally he clicked off his computer screen, stood up from his desk, stretched, and wandered out into the main room.  Sickbay was settled for the night, lights dimmed, monitors quiet, deserted save for a few sleeping patients and a single night nurse.  Plus one extra person.

            McCoy frowned in puzzlement and walked to the back of the room, where the line of biobeds was.  And where the unanticipated visitor was.  Kirk was perched on an empty biobed, studying the unconscious Lowell.

            "What are you doing here?" McCoy asked in genuine bewilderment.

            Kirk didn't look up.  "I was thinking."

            "About _him_?  Why?"

            "I kept hearing mentions of him today.  And then I was talking to Spock, and… well, I just kind of got to wondering.  What's he like?"

            McCoy looked at him, puzzled.  "What?"

            "What's he like?" Kirk repeated.  "You know…how does he think, what does he do with his time, why is he out here?  _What's he like_?"

            McCoy shrugged.  "Why would I know?"

            Kirk looked up then.  "Why wouldn't you?  You're a senior officer."

            "I'm a doctor."

            It was Kirk's turn to be puzzled.  "And you don't know anything about the captain?  Isn't keeping an eye on him, well, kind of important?"

            McCoy shrugged again.  "Sure, I keep an eye on him.  That doesn't mean I'm a close personal friend or anything."

            "Why not?"

            "I don't spend a lot of time on the bridge.  Why would I?  And he avoids Sickbay like the plague.  Anyway, why do you care what he's like?"

            "Just curious.  So who does know what Lowell is like?  Somebody on this ship must know about him."

            "I still don't see it.  What's it to you?"

            "Why does it have to _be_ anything to me?" Kirk asked with a trace of asperity.  "I just want to know about him."

            McCoy was good at asperity himself, along with plain old-fashioned stubbornness.  "And I still want to know why."

            "Because he's a Starship Captain," Kirk said, just as though that was the definitive answer to everything.  "I've never met a Starship Captain.  I just…want to know about him."

            McCoy took that in.  He thought about it, weighed it against what he knew of Lowell and what he knew of Kirk, and accepted it.  He reached into his memories of Lowell, considered the matter.  After several moments of silence, he said something.  "He's reading _War and Peace_."

            Kirk blinked, glanced at McCoy.  "_War and Peace_.  You're kidding."

            "I'm not.  He's very neat.  Precise.  Prefers to think things out rather than make snap decisions.  Not the most charming person I ever met, but not really unlikable either."

            "He's boring," Kirk concluded.

            McCoy chuckled.  "Well, maybe a little."

            Kirk went back to studying Lowell.  "Starship Captains aren't supposed to be boring," he said quietly, an oddly naïve sounding statement made more to himself than McCoy.  "Don't guess you know why he's in Starfleet?" he asked, trying and not quite succeeding at making the question sound inconsequential.

            "Actually," McCoy said slowly, "I asked him that once."

            "And?" Kirk said, just a little too eagerly.

            "His father was an admiral."

            Kirk's head snapped up.  "Tell me you just made that up."

            McCoy actually backed up a step from the suddenly dangerous tone in Kirk's voice.  "I think he had a grandfather and an uncle who were commodores…"

            Kirk turned a smoldering glare on Lowell.  "_Damn_."  Worlds of emotion made it into the single word.

            McCoy shifted, uncomfortable before these new depths of emotion being evidenced.  "I don't get it, what…?"

            Kirk's glare remained locked on the unconscious and unaware Captain Robert Lowell.  "I could hate him for that.  It would be so easy."

            "_What_?"

            "He's in Starfleet because his _father_ was in Starfleet?  That's why you become an _accountant_, not why you become a _Captain_!"

            McCoy didn't fail to note the slight hesitation Kirk put before the word 'captain,' as though to him it meant far, far more than its dictionary definition, that it was a word not to be used lightly.  That hesitation warned McCoy that he was on dangerous, but important, ground.  "Why…_would_ someone become a captain?" McCoy asked cautiously, treading his way with care.

            "Because…"  Kirk stopped, answer ungiven.  "Aw hell, I don't know, I'm just a pirate."

            It was instinct more than anything that led McCoy to the right question, just about the only question that would get him anywhere with Kirk right now.  "Well… strictly hypothetically speaking of course, why would _you_ become a captain?"

            "Because I had to," Kirk answered, almost automatically.  His eyes took on a faintly dreamy expression as he contemplated the matter.  "Because…that was the only thing in the galaxy I ever wanted to be.  Because from the moment I first looked at the stars, I knew that that was where my destiny was.  And that if I stayed on a planet, I would be spending the rest of my life looking at the night sky and dreaming.  And always the same dream.  Did you ever have a dream?"  He didn't give McCoy a chance to respond.  "A dream so real, so complete, so…perfect, that you couldn't possibly imagine anything else?  That you couldn't fathom not living it?  I did.  And this was it."  Kirk spread his arms to encompass the ship around him and all that it stood for, all the dreams of countless peoples over countless generations.  "I was going to be a Starship Captain."

            Kirk's voice was laced with pain, and with a self-ridiculing cynicism.  "I was going to be Garth of Izar.  Or later, when I got a little older, you know who I really wanted to be like?  Who my hero was, when I was a teenager?  Robert April."  He shook his head.  "I was all set to grow up and become Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship _Enterprise_.  I was going to be something special.  I was going to change the galaxy.  _That_ was my dream."  He fell silent, eyes bright, no trace of a grin on his face.

            After a moment, McCoy asked the question that had to be asked.  "So what happened?"

            Kirk smiled, a smile that was closer to a grimace.  "I'm leading a gang of petty raiders.  What the hell do you think happened?"  Kirk's expression was bitter.  "Not exactly my dream, no matter how much I wanted it.  And then…there's him.  With his father the admiral.  Why?  Why is _he_ sitting in that chair?  Why is _he_ the one on that bridge?  When it's all I ever wanted?"

            McCoy didn't have an answer.  There was no answer.  "I don't know," he said sincerely.

            "You know what?" Kirk said abruptly.  "I talk too much.  Next time I go on like this, do me a favor and tell me to _shut up_.  I'm getting out of here."  He started for the door.  Stopped.  "Do you have any brandy?"

            "Some…" McCoy said, surprised.  "For medicinal purposes."

            "Where?"

            McCoy didn't judge it wise to refuse to answer.  "Back cabinet.  Over there."

            Kirk got it, a quart-sized bottle filled to the top with amber-colored liquid.  He made for the door.

            "Wait a minute," McCoy protested, "What do you want with—"

            "Reeves still can't figure out what he did to the replicators so there's no alcohol there, and by now the Sharks have drunk through any we had on the ship."

            "And you—"

            "Plan to get very, very drunk tonight."  He cast one bitter glance at Lowell, and shook his head.  "His father was an admiral.  Damn them both."  With that he left.

            "I don't understand him," McCoy informed Lowell.  Except the truth of the matter was, he was beginning to think he did.  And that was the real problem.

~~~***~~~

Isadax: Regarding Spock and McCoy retaking the ship: it's a completely legitimate point, and honestly it bothers me a little too.  But there's nothing much I can think of to do, because they absolutely _cannot_ retake the ship as this point if the story is going to work.  And I don't think it's completely implausible.  Keep in mind how well Kirk has set this up for himself.  If Spock or McCoy retake the ship, the ship's still on self-destruct, and you can bet Kirk isn't bluffing about letting it blow up.  And further, they don't have the history of narrow escapes and clever plans that they have on the regular show.  They haven't done anything much more challenging than ferry ambassadors, at least since they came to the Enterprise.  And as for working together, well, they've never done that.  Regarding the language: you could have fooled me!

Wedge: Boot to the Head!  I've heard of it, I have a friend who recites and acts out the entire thing.  Though honestly, it had absolutely no bearing on that line.  "The best defense is a good offense" is just one of those clichéd lines that works sometimes.

Hanakin222: I know, I feel bad for them too.  Although Kirk's troubles just seem to keep getting bigger, and that was relatively minor…

Mimi: Yes to everything.  I think.  Is he a baddie?  Kinda.  Is he a mix?  You could say that.  Will you have to wait?  Yep.

MySchemingMind: Well, sure I think you're a nut.  But that's okay, because so I am, and so are the vast majority of the people I like and enjoy spending time with.  Loons of the world unite!  Ahem, sorry.  And really, what writer doesn't enjoy hearing a long rambling review of her story, especially when it's positive?  Holdings a conversation with a cat…that is a marvelously good analogy, I like.  And I'm sure Vulcans refrain from discussing uncomfortable things.  That's kinda what the whole "suppression of emotion" thing is all about.  They just take it a step further and deny that the discomfort with the topic even exists, or that they feel anything about the topic at all.  And you can stop waiting.  And then start waiting again for the next one I guess…vicious cycle, ain't it, as I've observed in the past…

Mzsnaz: Absolutely not friends with the Doctor.  Can't stand him, in fact.  And I figure Spock would be very adept at deflecting questions regarding himself.

Alania: You are the first person to use "yummy" as an adjective for one of my stories.  Congratulations on uniqueness!  Sorry Spock's not in this chapter, he'll be back in a couple more though.

Cyrogenie: Absolutely not the _Enterprise_ we know and love.  McCoy's highly unlikely to sit with Spock in this universe.  And you don't want Lowell healed and returned to his life and command?  How sad.  Not that I blame you, why do you think I knocked him out to begin with?

Samantha: Yes!  That was basically the goal; let's throw off the readers by sending McCoy in the right direction then _not_ having him sit with Spock.  Had to remind you guys of the alternate-ness somehow.  And I think Kirk got frustrated with Spock once in a while on the real show; he was just much better at taking it with a sense of humor than McCoy.

Whatshername: Chicken sandwiches, wow that's random…glad you liked the conversation, and the last line, which I worked hard to get him to say.

Anonymous: Y'know, my first thought on seeing you listed as "anonymous" was "oh no, it's a flame, isn't it, that's why they aren't giving their name."  Except then it wasn't, so thank you right there.  And I think Kirk would be very willing to abandon Lowell, except that going near a starbase might not be the wisest plan.  And as for Trekkie Soul…I'll try, really.  I have a day off coming soon, maybe I can give it some attention then, because it's being very high-maintenance.

That's all.  More soon, and I think it's a chapter you've all been waiting for.  What _did_ push Kirk into his life of crime?  One more flashback, coming up!


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Disclaimer: I own 35 Star Trek books, every issue of _Star Trek: The Magazine_, three "anniversary specials" (25, 30, 35), two Star Trek calendars ('02 and '03) and a Data action figure.  I don't own Star Trek.

At last!  The long-awaited story of Kirk's turn to the dark side…rather than rambling on here, I'll just let you read.  Remember that our last chapter closed with Kirk stalking out of Sickbay carrying a bottle of brandy…

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

McCoy was back in Sickbay early the next morning.  He wasn't the only one.  Kirk turned up in Sickbay early that morning as well.

"Good morning," McCoy said warily.

Kirk cut straight to the point.  "I want to apologize.  I was…a little irrational last night."

"A little," McCoy agreed dryly.

"And you know, everything I said…"  Kirk shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the floor.  "Well, just forget it, all right?  I was just talking…didn't really mean it, you know."

McCoy nodded.  "I kind of thought that might be."

Neither one of them meant a word of it.

"Oh…and I wanted to return your brandy."  Kirk extended the bottle to McCoy.

McCoy took at it, glanced at it.  It was still full to the top.  "You didn't drink any?" McCoy asked, surprised.

Kirk shrugged, claiming a chair nearby.  "I was going to.  But then a little voice in my head—a conscience type voice, not a schizophrenia type one—pointed out that it was illogical to drink to excess.  And then another one put in that, logical or not, it was bad for my health.  So here I am, with a full bottle of brandy."  He grinned, amused.  "I think you people are having an effect on me.  Wonder if that's good or bad."

"If it keeps you sober it's probably good," McCoy tossed over his shoulder as he put the brandy back in its place.  "Don't get me wrong, I'm the one with the quart of brandy in my cabinet, but an awful lot of paths to dissolution and criminal activity are paved with empty bottles."  He glanced at Kirk.  "What's yours paved with?"

"Stars," Kirk said promptly.

"Hardly the usual response," McCoy said with a dubious expression.

"I mean it.  The stars are out here, so I'm out here.  If the stars weren't here, I wouldn't be either.  Though I suppose if the stars weren't out here, there wouldn't _be_ an out here.  Y'know?"

"No.  It sounds very poetic, but it says nothing.  I still haven't the faintest idea how you came to your life of crime," McCoy said lightly.

"What's it to you?"

"It's not anything to me.  I'm just curious."  McCoy gave him a thoughtful look.  "I suspect you're an interesting person, Mr. Kirk."

"Jim."

"Pardon?"

"Jim.  That's my name.  You can call me Jim."

"All right."  McCoy shrugged.  "Well then, you're probably an interesting person, _Jim_—"

"Thank you."

"—provided I could get you to talk about yourself.  Really, I can't figure you.  I have no idea how you got from Iowa to the Sharks.  Frankly, I don't know why you aren't still in Iowa."

This wasn't the first time McCoy has asked Kirk about this topic.  But this morning, Kirk felt more inclined to answer.  "I never planned to stay in Iowa.  Well, for a brief period I did, after they threw me out of the Academy, but I eventually came out here anyway.  And after a while I got bored with an honest living.  So here I am."

McCoy was still back a few sentences.  "Wait, they threw you out—"

"Don't ask.  Please."

"Okay.  So you…got bored with staying within the law?"

"Hauling cargo is _boring_," Kirk informed him.

"I'll just take your word on that.  But…that's it?  You got _bored_ so you turned to crime?"  McCoy was skeptical.

"I realized I was never going to get anywhere playing by the rules.  So one day I decided I wasn't going to play by the rules anymore."

"Funny, I would've guessed there had been some more dramatic moment.  Some great event that made you turn your back forever on an honest life," McCoy said idly.  "It's the romantic in me."

"You mean one day, one crossroads, that changed my life forever?"  Kirk looked McCoy straight in the eyes.  "Nah, nothing like that," he said.

He lied.  McCoy didn't know it, but of course Kirk did.  Because there had been one day, one evening actually, that had changed everything forever…

It had been on a little planet called Albion.  Respectable enough for Starfleet ships to stop there, but shady enough for the criminal network to operate extensively there too.  Kirk and Harry had been in a bar that catered to both groups.  Kirk had met Harry about six months previous, and they'd worked together on the same jobs of dubious legality since then.  Nothing strictly illegal; legal, but dubiously so.  Having just been paid off for the most recent job, they were blowing their credits in the bar.

Kirk had already had about one too many brandys when the Starfleet lieutenant walked by.  Kirk had been sitting alone at the table at that moment.  Harry was dancing with a particularly pretty brunette.  They'd arm-wrestled over who got to dance with her.  Kirk had won, as he always did, and Harry had cut in before the song was half over, as _he_ always did.  Unsurprised and undisturbed, Kirk had returned to his table just in time to have a drink spilled on him.

He'd been watching the lieutenant for a while already that evening.  The kid stood out.  He was the only Starfleet in the room just then, and to Kirk especially that gold shirt was like a beacon.  The lieutenant had come in with a couple of friends earlier in the evening, but they'd continued on while the lieutenant had stayed to flirt with a waitress.  He was crossing the room now, carrying his drink, and an unfortunate misstep bumped him into Kirk's table and splashed his drink on Kirk.

"Hey, I'm sorry," the lieutenant said at once, sincerely.  "It was an accident, I tripped."

Kirk gave him a distinctly unfriendly look.  "Of course it was."

The lieutenant was slightly unnerved.  "Well…no harm done, right?"

"No."

"Good."  The lieutenant smiled politely and turned to go.

"Very like Starfleet," Kirk said.

The lieutenant turned back.  "Excuse me?"

"It's very like Starfleet," Kirk repeated, a hard edge in his voice.  "A microcosm of the whole thing.  Dumping drinks on the…_lesser masses_ of the galaxy."

The kid's posture stiffened.  Kirk was getting to him.  "Do you have a problem with Starfleet?"

Kirk got to his feet.  "Yes.  I have a _problem_ with Starfleet.  I think they're a lot of two-faced dictators, controlling the galaxy and lording it over the rest of us mere mortals like they're some kind of gods."

The kid's hands balled into fists.  "Take it back," he said tightly.

"Don't think I will.  Because it's true.  So you're in Starfleet.  So you've got a starship.  So you come waltzing in here in your fancy gold shirt like you're better than us."

By now half the bar was listening.  Harry was frantically waving at Kirk to sit down and shut up, directions Kirk was ignoring.

The lieutenant glared at him.  "You know something?  You're right," he snapped.  "I do think I'm better than you.  Better than a drunken bar rat.  Because I'm Starfleet.  And because I fly a starship."

"I could fly a starship."

"You?"  The kid sneered.  "You'll never get close enough to a starship to spit on one."

Kirk hit him.

The kid went backwards, crashing into a table that broke beneath him.

"You go to hell," Kirk said, voice filled with fury.

The lieutenant rose to his feet slowly, meticulously dusted himself off, took one step forward, and punched Kirk right back.  After that it was a free-for-all, as messy a barroom brawl as any, the other patrons hurriedly getting out of the way, then staying to watch.

It has to be admitted that Kirk drew his phaser first.  They were facing off in a moment's pause, and Kirk pulled out his phaser.

Kirk grinned, somewhat maliciously.  "Bet you thought only Starfleet had Starfleet phasers."

The lieutenant didn't answer.  Not in words anyway.  But his hand moved towards his own phaser.  Kirk was faster.

The scarlet beam burned its way right through the gold shirt, turning the skin beneath to a blackened mass.  The kid gave Kirk one surprised look, then slowly toppled backwards onto the barroom floor, eyes wide, staring without seeing at the ceiling.

The realization of what he had done did not come slowly to Kirk.  It struck like a bolt of lightning, a horrible searing knowledge destroying in one terrible instant all of his bravado.

Kirk stared in horror.  "It wasn't on stun," he said numbly.  "_It wasn't on stun_."  He dropped the phaser as though it had suddenly turned red-hot.  "Oh my god, I _killed_ him!"

Harry pushed through the rapidly fleeing crowd and grabbed him by the arm.  "Now is not the time for prayers or regrets.  Now is the time to _run_," he hissed.

"But…but I…"

"This place is going to be swarming with the law in minutes.  If you don't want to spend the rest of your life in a penal colony for murder, trust me and RUN!"

Kirk swallowed hard, snatched up his phaser, and stumblingly followed after Harry, gradually getting his legs in order and picking up speed as he went.

They got away.  Ducked out the door and into the cold night without a backward glance.  But even without a final glance to cement the image in his mind, the cocky lieutenant with the brown eyes and the grin would haunt Jim Kirk for some time.

The first man he ever killed.  Not the last.  But the only one he had nightmares about.  Kirk told himself he didn't know why that was so, and tried to leave it at that.  Except the truth was, he did know why that particular man stuck with him.

Killing him had been a lot like killing himself.  Because he had seen himself there, across the barroom.  His careless grin, his dancing eyes, hell, even the way he looked at the waitress across the bar.  It was all there on the lieutenant's face.  And beneath it was the gold shirt Kirk wanted so desperately to wear.  All of that was why he had picked the fight to begin with.  And then the whole mess had escalated.

And Kirk had killed him.  And, in a way, that had been the final shot it took to finally kill his dream.  Oh sure, it had been pretty well dead for a couple of years by then, when he'd realized the galaxy wasn't as exciting, as glorious, as he'd thought.  But killing the lieutenant had been the final lash, the final blow to make sure it was beaten down, not getting up again for another round.

And after that, well…  He was trying to avoid being hauled off for murder, after all, and Harry knew some people who knew some people.  And that's how they came to join the Sharks.  A mere week earlier Kirk would have balked at it, but it hardly mattered now.

And life went on.  It was only a few years before Kirk was running the Sharks.  With two years of Starfleet training and an innate sense of command, put together with a strong desire to be the only kind of captain left to him, Kirk probably could have taken over even faster.  A few years after that put him at the present…

Snapping fingers snapped Kirk out of the past.  He blinked and reflexively jerked his head back from McCoy's hand.

McCoy was looking at him with a faintly amused expression.  "You zoned out on me for a minute there, Jim."

Kirk shrugged.  "I was thinking," he muttered.  Still was, in fact.  Still had most of his mind centered on a cocky Starfleet lieutenant he'd killed one day in what amounted to a stupid barroom brawl.  He hadn't even known the kid's name.  Something which had bothered him irrationally until he finally found someone to dig through Starfleet's database and find it for him a few years later…

McCoy's voice broke into his thoughts.  "You weren't just thinking, you were off in another galaxy entirely, as far as how much attention you were paying to this one.  Do you do that a lot?  Could be a sign of too much stress.  You should try relaxing more oft—"

"Say, Bones," Kirk interrupted, "did you ever know a guy named Gary Mitchell?  Starfleet lieutenant, a little younger than me?"

McCoy's face creased in a frown, puzzled both by the name and the sudden and apparently random change of topic.  "No…can't say I ever did.  The name doesn't sound familiar anyway.  Friend of yours?"

"No."  Kirk stood up.  "I have to go.  See you later, Bones."

"See you…and it's McCoy," he added, clearly an afterthought.

Kirk nodded.  "Right," he said without much interest, and left.

McCoy shook his head, wondering if he'd ever really understand Jim Kirk.  It didn't seem likely.

~~~***~~~

So there you have it.  The final story on Kirk's background.  But don't vanish now, there's still the present to deal with…with more in store for Kirk.

ScifiMimi: Yes, Lowell is boring.  I think everyone but him knows it.  And thank you for the faithful reviewing!

MySchemingMind: _Prime Directive_, I love _Prime Directive_.  The Reeves-Stevens are so good at one-liners, even in serious stories.  And I refuse to accept that everyone would be happier with you in a coma; I have a friend who says things like that and I never accept it from her either 'cause it isn't true, and while I don't really know you, I doubt it's true of you either.  And I'm glad you're understanding Kirk.  McCoy's trying to.  Spock and McCoy probably could retake the ship, I admit that and ask you to ignore it.  It's probably impossible for Kirk to do what he's doing, i.e. controlling the ship (did I really just put "i.e."?  Wow…) but if he didn't there would be no story.  So figure, the Starfleet crew has no experience at this sort of thing (and they don't, in this universe), they have no effective leader (except maybe Spock who they really aren't very fond of) and they don't have the faintest idea how to work together.  And, well, Kirk is intriguing.  And I love getting into Kirk's head.  Spock and McCoy are the most fun for dialogue (when they're normal) but Kirk's the most fun for his thinking.

Jennifer: Let's keep in mind drinking is never a good way to deal with pain.  This has been the public service announcement of the day.  : )  Glad you like the story, I'll keep at it until we come to the crashing conclusion.

Trekker-T: Y'know, I never thought of Kirk as a privateer, but I guess he kind of was.  A privateer as defined as given a license to attack the ships of enemy nations, which I guess he had…at least, the Federation wouldn't freak if he happened to attack the Klingons.  Although he also was a member of the navy-equivalent.  And sure, the list of explorers is huge, but at least it's less than the list of names and numbers.  As to the voiceprint, Reeves didn't encode it that specifically.  The usual codes have to be open for any member of the crew to use, so anyone with Kirk's codes could control the computer.

Whatshername: Oh…were you a little anxious for this chapter?

Wedge: Ah yes, irony.  Robert April replaced Garth of Izar in that speech for the sole purpose of having Kirk say "Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship _Enterprise_." 

Alicia: I confess, I've never read _War and Peace_, so perhaps it _is_ good.  But it kind of has a reputation for being very long and very dull.  The most boring book _I've_ ever read was _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_.  [shiver] School assignment.

Alania: Perhaps you have used "yummy" before.  I'm not sure.  And as he said, why _would_ McCoy be on the bridge?  He doesn't like Spock, and there's no Captain Kirk to go chat with and lean on his chair.  So he sticks around Sickbay and the Mess Hall, and maybe Engineering since he's friends with Scotty.  The joys of an alternate universe.  It's fun to write details like that.

Unrealistic: Does it make me really bad to say I'm glad I'm getting an emotional reaction from you?  'Cause that is kind of the point of writing, except for comedy, where it's strictly a "make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh," situation, to quote _Singin' in the Rain_.  I haven't read _Preserver_, though I did read _The Return_ and _Avenger_.  Good, but not enough McCoy.

Mzsnaz: I think FF scared everyone, maybe even itself.  Very glad you're seeing the emotional depths, haven't done much writing of that nature before.

Samantha: The dream has always been a major thing in my perception of Kirk too, at least ever since I read _Prime Directive_.  Great book, that.  And I dunno if even Kirk would want to know Lowell if he ever met him…since Kirk's only known him as being unconscious, he can project his ideas of a Starship Captain onto him.  Glad you're still enjoying this!

That's all.  More with the Sharks next chapter, which will be up at the earliest opportunity.


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

Disclaimer: Anything you're likely to encounter in any other Star Trek story is not mine.  Anything that's unique to my alternate universe is mine.  Simple, no?

School is insanely busy, Easter break cannot come too soon.  That said, I have two new chapters to post and will hopefully have another one (or two) within a week or so.  So, onto the story.  Enjoy!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As Kirk headed towards the bridge, he was not in the best of moods, and understandably so.  As he arrived on the bridge, his mood only went downhill.  The bridge, even under current circumstances, was always a haven of quiet and order.

Except for today.

As Kirk stepped out of the turbolift, he found that pirates had overrun the bridge.  The fact that they were his pirates hardly reconciled him to the fact.

Mostly because he was closest to the turbolift, it was Harry who caught Kirk's attention first.  The valiant Mr. Mudd was engaged in one of his usual pursuits.

"Y'know, if I'd known there were beautiful girls like you in space, I might've joined Starfleet."

Uhura looked at him with contempt.  "They _never_ would have taken you."

Harry smiled winningly.  "I'd get in on charm alone."

"Yes, you obviously have nothing else," Uhura agreed.

Harry frowned.  "If you were a _little_ more friendly, we could have some fun."

"Do you _enjoy_ being slapped?" she asked incredulously.

"Alright, I think we're having a miscommu—"

"That's enough, Harry," Kirk interrupted.  "She's not interested."

"Now wait a minute, Jim, I'm just starting to get somewhere," Harry protested.

"No.  You're not."  Kirk nodded to Uhura, grabbed Harry by the arm, and pulled him away.

"You spoil everything," Harry complained.

"What did I tell you about Starfleet women?"

"You know, you never went into detail on that," Harry commented, casting a glance back at Uhura.  "Why shouldn't I try for—"

"Harry!"

"And how do you know, anyway?"

Kirk sighed.  "Remind me to tell you about Ruth some time.  Not now."

In the process of hauling Harry along, Kirk had struck out along the path of least resistance.  This had been along the back of the bridge, staying on the upper ramp.  This brought them, naturally, to Spock's station.  This also brought them to Reeves.

"I can too," Reeves was insisting.

"I highly doubt it," Spock said calmly.  "No one can."

"I can," Reeves said confidently.  "If, of course, I could _connect_ to it."

"Ah," Spock said, imparting great significance to the single syllable.

"I mean it!  I'll just get—"  Reeves glanced around at that, and noticed Kirk.  "Cap'n, I need to use the _Enterprise_ systems to connect to the Vulcan High Command's computer network."

Kirk looked at him suspiciously.  "Why?" he asked warily.

"So I can prove to Mr. Spock here that I can hack through their security system," Reeves answered promptly.

"It has never been done," Spock put in.

"If _he_ tries, can _I_ try?" Harry asked.

Kirk was saved from having to answer that by a sudden outburst.

"_I ain't no Cossack_!"

Kirk ran for the navigator's station, narrowly managing to grab onto Carl's arm before he drew his phaser.  "Carl, _no_!" Kirk snapped, in much the same tone he would used on a dog caught in the wrong.

"Aw, come on, Cap'n!"

"What did I tell you?" Kirk asked sternly.

Carl grimaced.  "Can't I kill him a _little_?"

"No, not even a little!"

"But he keeps calling me a Cossack," Carl complained.

Kirk turned an exasperated look on Chekov.  "Will you stop _doing_ that?"

"He deserves it," Chekov said, unrepentant.

"Apologize," Kirk ordered.

"I don't vant to," Chekov said sullenly.

"Do it anyway!"

Chekov frowned.  "I'm sorry."  It was a grudging apology.

"That's alright," Carl muttered.

Kirk felt reasonably safe releasing Carl's arm.  Freed from immediate disaster, Kirk glanced around the bridge.  Along with the three pirates he had talked to, there were also five more.  They were scattered around the bridge, and, by the looks of things, were poking into everything.  Kirk felt rather as though he were reading a mystery novel and had accidentally skipped a chapter, rendering all that followed a hopeless, disjointed muddle.

"What's going on?  Why are you all _here_?"

It was, to no one's great surprise, Harry who answered.  "Well, we knew _you_ were spending a lot of time here, so we decided to come see what the attraction was."

"Kind of a nice place," Carl put in, good humor already restored.  He flared up fast but calmed fast too.

"It has certain attractions," Harry agreed, casting a glance at Uhura.  She glared at him.

"Nice chair, too," Carl added, and, with absolutely no ceremony, walked over to the command chair and plunked down into it.  He leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him, hands gripping the arm rests.  "Hmm.  I like the armrests, but it's got rotten back support."

Something in Kirk snapped.  "Out," he said tightly.  "Get out.  All of you, _out_!"

Carl blinked.  "What?"

"_Out_!  Everyone not in uniform get off this bridge!   This isn't a bar, this is the bridge of a starship and I want you _out_!"

When Kirk got like that, there was nothing to do but obey.  That doesn't mean the Sharks were happy as they silently entered the turbolift though.  As soon as they were gone, Kirk reclaimed the center chair, expression daring anyone to comment.  No one did.

The bridge was silent for almost five minutes.  Then Kirk spoke.

"God, that was stupid."  His tone was half regretful and half amused.

"It appeared justified to me, though unduly emotional."

"You don't understand, Spock.  Gang leaders who shout down their gang for no reason the gang can see don't _stay_ leaders.  They either get voted out or shot in the back some dark night."  He paused.  "It's about as bad as having your luck turn."

Spock nodded slowly.  "I believe I see what you mean."

Kirk shrugged suddenly, deliberately putting his worry aside, something he had learned to do long ago.  Had to, in this business.  "Well, I'll make it up to them somehow.  And if I can't…this is my last run anyway.  I'm getting out of the business."

"That is admirable," Spock commented.

Kirk just grinned, a roguish grin that effectively belied Spock's assessment of the situation.  "You don't need the gang once you strike a fortune.  And this ship is mine."

~~~***~~~

Not particularly long, I know.  That's why there's two of them.  But first, replies to reviews:

Cryogenie: [eyebrows rise] An actual published Trek book that takes place in an alternate universe?  I need to look into this…  Thank you!

Wedge: Hee, the schizophrenia line seems to have gone over remarkably well.  And thanks for commenting that it's believable, since that's the trickiest part!

Samantha: Yeah, I'd noticed the Gary Mitchell-appearance thing, which was definitely an influence at least in getting him on my mind.  And it allows for, as you mentioned, the irony of both universes' Kirks killing poor unfortunate Gary.  (Which reminds me, have you read the "My Brother's Keeper" trilogy?  Basically devoted to Gary.  And Kirk, of course.)  As for the schizophrenia line, I'm glad it was humorous, and you latched on to the original reason for its existence: it sounds not unlike our universe's Kirk.  Prime Directive and Best Destiny—both good books, though I thought Best Destiny started a bit slow, then got excellent farther in.  Which was unfortunate for me, as I got pulled away from reading on the very line where it started to get _very_ good.  And of course I got back to it, but I didn't enjoy that at _all_.

Hanakin: Yep, I like irony.  "That's what you call ironic."  Sorry, random Pirates quote…

MySchemingMind: Over…a…_hundred_.  That's got to be nearly all of them.  Which leaves me _very_ impressed.  Relaxment: I think it's relaxation…though relaxment isn't a half-bad word, really.  I'm glad the connection is coming off well, since it's based on practically nothing tangible, seeing as they're on opposite sides.  But I figure everything about them that makes them friends in the regular universe is still there, but with a surface tension due to circumstances.  And I've tried all throughout to base it on that, not on any "Hmm, do I _know_ you from somewhere, cough cough, hint hint" instinct thing.  Re: the Kirk and Gary fight scene.  I love love _love_ it when reviewers (in this case, you) describe the emotions they got out of a scene.  Because what you got out of it was exactly what I was trying to put into it, and I don't always _know_ if what I'm trying to get across is coming across or not.  So…thank you!  And I don't even like writing action scenes…so thank you about that too!  And I am definitely considering writing as a career.  Time will tell if I'm crazy or not.

Alania: Gary Mitchell is kinda remembered as being bigger than he really was.  He got killed in the first episode, so that's the only one he was in.  But the whole back-story of being Kirk's best friend makes him more important, I guess.

PearlGirl: Thanks for the comments on Trekkie Soul, FF's just screwy I guess.  I'll assume you know about Gary Mitchell by now, presumably by way of Alania.  And Lowell would probably make a pretty good historian.  Or the commodore of a starbase or something.

Alicia: I believe the penal colony is in New Zealand, and I definitely believe it would be very sad for Kirk to go there, though he _has_ committed enough crimes to warrant it, in this universe.  But we like him anyway.  Sulu and Chekov I am making sure not to forget, and I can promise that Chekov will be back with a big part in another chapter or two.  Uhura…I can't get a hold of her character somehow.  Dunno why.

Mimi: Yeah, that is one similarity Kirk has to Jack.  Nature of their villainy.  They're pirates, and they're good men.

Unrealistic: More McCoy?  May have to look into Preserver then.  The other two books always seemed unnaturally grim without him.  The universe was out of balance without the Big Three to, well, balance each other out.  And I'm glad you liked the chapter!

Emp: Catching up in newspaper…I always liked to read Fanfiction during my computer classes, when I had a computer class.  Or look at pictures of Johnny Depp, that was nice too.  Glad you're liking the scope of the alternate universe, it's lotsa fun to add little pieces here and there to make it all fit together.

Whatshername: [Idea dawns] Hey…somebody in Trek (probably Kirk) could develop real schizophrenia with little voices that sound like Spock and McCoy…that could be very entertaining…

Mzsnaz: I'm seeing definite softening here.  Well, not in these chapters, exactly, but soon.

'Tis all.  More soon.  Like now, in fact, since I've got two.


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

Disclaimer: It's still not mine, savvy?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

True to his word, Kirk set out to patch things up with the Sharks at the earliest opportunity.  The earliest opportunity was lunchtime.  Kirk headed, naturally, for the Mess Hall.  There he found a table full of Sharks.  He also found something far more surprising.

As Kirk walked through the Mess Hall, he noticed something.  The Starfleet crew wasn't glaring at him.  Somewhere along the way, maybe after the battle with the Cambias brothers, they'd given up expressing contempt with every glance.  Instead, they were treating him with absolute indifference.  Kirk was pleased, considering it a definite improvement.

Except that now the Sharks were glaring at him.  Kirk sighed, and went that way.

Kirk pulled out a chair and dropped into it.  He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at the Sharks.  They looked back.  "So," Kirk said.  "You don't look happy."

A grumble rose from the gathered pirates.  "No," Harry said pointedly.  "We're not."

"That's unfortunate," Kirk said politely.

Harry ignored the comment.  "We were a little thrown by what happened on the bridge this morning."

"Oh come on, don't make more of it than it was," Kirk said languidly.

"You threw us off the bridge!" Reeves protested.

"Well, yes," Kirk admitted, "but try to understand where I'm coming from.  I need that bridge crew to keep doing their jobs, that's how we're getting this ship to the Romulan Empire.  Once we're there, well…"  He shrugged expressively.

The Sharks muttered agreements, but grudgingly.

"And you're still not happy," Kirk observed.

Harry tried to explain.  "It's not just about this morning, it's a lot of things.  We _have_ noticed how much time you've been spending with Starfleet people."

"So what?" Kirk asked, trying not to sound defensive.  He didn't succeed very well.

"Well, it's just kind of got us wondering.  I mean…whose side are you on, anyway?" Harry asked, coming to the point at last.

Kirk stared at them all for a long moment, mind working furiously, a fact not evidenced by his expression.  This was every bit as serious as he'd been afraid it might be, and he needed to martial his forces to handle it.  "I can't believe you said that," Kirk said finally.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but stuck to his position.  "It's _true_."

"After everything we've all been through, where do you get the nerve to say that to me?" Kirk demanded, electing to play the part of the wounded, steadfast leader.  "We wouldn't even _be_ here without me.  We wouldn't be _anywhere_, except maybe captured by Starfleet and sent to the penal colony in New Zealand by now."

"Certain others of us had _something_ to do with it all," Reeves pointed out, undoubtedly mindful of his rather important role of hacking into the computer.

"Absolutely and I wouldn't deny it," Kirk said immediately, quickly and easily switching to the affirming leader.  "You've all proven your worth time and again.  But you can't deny it, we never would have beaten the _Enterprise_ in battle without me.  Hell, take it back a step: Starfleet never would have sent a starship after us to begin with.  But they did and I did, and here we are.  Well on our way to making a fortune."

"He has a point," Harry acknowledged, clearly more relieved than anything.  He genuinely liked Kirk.  It wasn't a comfortable position to be on the opposite side of the table from him.  Besides, he'd seen what had happened to that side of the table often enough to know it wasn't wise to sit there.

The other Sharks were mumbling agreements, somewhat more enthusiastically than before.  Mentioning the money had been a wise move.  Kirk acknowledged progress made, but knew that he needed to push it farther.

"Have to admit, we've come a long way in the last few years," Kirk said lightly, lounging in his chair, apparently relaxed but carefully directing the conversation down a new and specific path.  "A couple of years ago we were still holding up bars every so often."

"Don't knock it, those were some good times," Harry said nostalgically.

"_You_ never stuck to the plan," O'Riley said pointedly.

"I still don't know why the plan was always to steal the money," Harry argued cheerfully.  "Why not go for what _really_ matters?"

It was an old and familiar argument, one they'd been over so many times that there was certainly no new territory to cover and everyone knew just where it was going.  A good-natured chorus of "Oh come _on_, Harry!" and "Just let it go!" rose from the Sharks.

"I mean it," Harry insisted.  "What are you going to spend the money on anyway?"

Laughter and amusement spread among the pirates, and Carl obligingly gave Harry the required one-word cue.  "Drinks."

"_Exactly_!" Harry concluded triumphantly.  "So why not eliminate the middle man and steal the drinks to _begin_ with?"

"Because money's easier to move," O'Riley contended.

"And that's what's great about spaceships," Harry countered promptly.

"No, what's great about spaceships is that you can use them to attack other spaceships," Reeves corrected.  "And that's where the real money is, not in some dive of a bar on some dive of a planet.  It's all out flying through the cosmos.  Merchant ships really oughta have heavier shielding," he concluded thoughtfully.

"Or travel in packs," Harry agreed solemnly.  "There's a lot of dangerous characters out here."

"Even that might not always help.  Imagine if we had one of those cloaking devices I've heard the Romulans have," Reeves said dreamily.  "I've heard they can go right by a ship with no one the wiser.  We could get right in the middle of the pack and pick 'em off one by one and they wouldn't have any idea what was going on."

"Who needs it?  Fly in an' let 'em fear you as they see you coming, that's what I say," Carl said firmly.

"There's an advantage in that," O'Riley acknowledged.  "Always nice to put some fear in the victims.  Makes 'em cooperate.  Like that cargo ship we robbed last month.  People who go into space should have more nerve than that."

That was enough to start them on a long string of rememberings.  The time they attacked six ships in five days, then managed to lose nearly all the money within another two days.  That little colony on the rim they'd raided a while back.  That stash of Romulan ale they'd found under the floor of one ship after the captain had sworn there were no secret compartments.  And many, many others.

Kirk was leaning back in his chair, listening, eyes half-closed but alert.  This was what he had been aiming for.  Reminiscences of past glory would boost the Sharks' self-esteem and confidence levels, and remind them that an awful lot of those glories had been dependent on one Jim Kirk.

As this had been his goal, he should have been pleased.  But he wasn't, really.  Because somehow, the stories didn't seem quite so entertaining as they had in the past.  In fact, he was beginning to feel just a bit…uncomfortable.  He refused to call it guilt.  Unbidden, the thought came that Spock and Bones wouldn't approve of any of this.  That held true for almost anything he had done in the last few years.

He told himself that he was different from them, fundamentally different.  He was a pirate.  They were Starfleet.  He had to live by different rules, and what he did was just what was necessary to do to get by in the galaxy as he found it to be.  He accepted all of that.  He told himself further that their opinions didn't really matter anyway.  He couldn't quite accept that, but he tried.

This was his last run, he promised himself.  After this, he'd get out of the business for good.  He'd make his fortune on this last deal then buy a little one-person ship—no, better make it two-person, one that was sleek and fast and trim, and go sailing off into the infinite stars without a backward glance.


	26. Chapter TwentySix

Disclaimer: I guess I own Carl.  I don't own anything else.  In fact, I'm pretty blatantly plagiarizing one of Chekov's lines.  I didn't write it.  You'll know it when you see it.

Yes, another chapter!  Two, in fact.  I'm going to be on vacation over Easter break, so in between doing homework ahead of time I figured I'd get a couple chapters up too, since I won't have a chance for a couple weeks after this.  Sorry about that, but in the meantime, read on, and enjoy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It might have been a great deal easier for a great many people if all of the Sharks had just stayed in the Mess Hall and talked of past adventures for the rest of the afternoon.  But of course they didn't.

They began to disperse around mid-afternoon.  Kirk, naturally, went back to the bridge.  Carl wandered off towards Rec Room Two.  Reeves went to spend more time with his newfound friend, the _Enterprise_ computer.  Harry stayed in the Mess Hall and got more food.  None of this was at all unusual and everything would have been fine.  Except for one thing.

It was a great misfortune that Carl chanced to still be in Rec Room Two at four o'clock.  Four o'clock marked the end of Chekov's shift, and Chekov just happened to head to—of all the rec rooms on the _Enterprise_—the second one.

It hardly matters who started it and who kept it going, why they started it or what it was about.  All that really counts is that it could only end up one way.

"Cossack," Chekov muttered.

Carl's hand slammed down on the tabletop with a bang.  "I ain't no Cossack!  And what the hell _is_ a Cossack?"

Chekov gave him one contemptuous look and didn't answer.

Carl stubbornly refused to drop the subject.  "Well?  What the hell's a Cossack?"

Chekov looked at him with a distinctly superior expression.  "I vould not expect one of _your_ intellect to understand."

Carl wasn't handling this well, judging by the increasingly red complexion of his face.  "That's it!" he snapped.  "I've had enough from you!"

Chekov was unimpressed.  "Vhat are you going to do?  Shoot me?" he taunted.

"I think I will," Carl decided, and drew his phaser.

Chekov was impressed.  Hard not to be, since he doubted that Carl had the intelligence to think of bluffing.  He raised his hands.  "Let's not be hasty…"

"I've been wanting to shoot you for a _long_ time," Carl said, deliberately walking towards him, phaser aimed for Chekov's chest

"And Kirk told you not to kill anyone," Chekov reminded him, backing up and trying hard not to trip over anything.

Carl grinned, a malicious expression.  "And when yer dead, who's gonna tell 'im?"

"I think he vill notice," Chekov put in, bumping up against the back wall.  Nowhere else to go.

"He'll get over it," Carl said dismissively.  He loomed over the relatively slight Chekov, phaser raised, finger on the trigger, setting on kill.

There was nowhere for Chekov to go and little he could do.  He was unarmed and Carl had him cornered, and they both knew it.  His gaze darted around the room, over Carl's shoulder, and back at Carl.  When he spoke it was to say only a single word.  "Parley."

Carl blinked.  "What?"

Chekov drew himself up to his full height, which was still a good eight inches shorter than Carl.  "Parley.  I invoke the right of parley."

Carl stared at him as though he had just started speaking Swahili.  "What the hell is parley?"

Chekov gave him an indignant look.  "According to the Code of the Brethren set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, vhen a prisoner invokes the right of parley they must be taken to the captain.  And they cannot be harmed until the parley is complete."

"Who do you think I am, _Bluebeard_?"

Chekov's expression shifted to one of surprise.  "You are not going to take me to your captain?"

"No!"

The expression of surprise shifted again, to one of shock.  "You do not follow the Code of the Brethren?"

"It's the 23rd century!" Carl exploded.

"Morgan and Bartholomew vould not like this," Chekov warned.

"This is ridiculous," Carl muttered, and raised his phaser.

It was then that the base of the 3-D chessboard hit him in the back of the head.  Carl slumped to the ground, the phaser skittering across the floor and disappearing under the nearest couch.  Chekov sagged, relieved.

"You certainly took your time," Chekov complained.

Sulu grinned, and set down the chessboard.  "I wanted to see how long you could spin out that fiction about parley."

"Fiction?  It is _history_," Chekov informed him, as he bent over to get a hold on Carl's ankles.

"What are you going to do?" Sulu asked, watching.

"I invoked parley.  That means I get to talk to his captain.  And _he_ is coming," Chekov explained, jerking his head at Carl.  "Grab an end."

Sulu pulled Carl's arms above his head and got a hold of his wrists.  They lifted Carl between them and struck out a lurching path for the door.

"So how do you know that stuff about parley, anyway?" Sulu asked, curious.  "Morgan and Bartholomew, and everything."

Chekov ducked his head with an embarrassed grin.  "Oh, vell…I liked pirate stories vhen I vas a kid.  About the high seas and buried treasures and the sword fights and everything.  Pirates vere very different many centuries ago," he said with a frown at Carl.  "Besides, parley vas invented by the Russians."

Sulu looked at him dubiously.  "It sounds kind of French to me.  Sure it wasn't invented by the French?"

Chekov shook his head.  "No.  The Russians.  Morgan and Bartholomew vere from Moscow."

"Of course," Sulu agreed as they lugged Carl out the door.  "My mistake."

It wasn't an easy thing to carry a pirate of Carl's, ah, stature through the corridors of the _Enterprise_.  Which is why the turbolifts were such a very welcome thing.  So consequently it wasn't too long before they arrived at the bridge and dumped Carl at Kirk's feet.

Kirk looked at them, looked at Carl, and looked back at them.  "What _happened_?"

"He tried to kill me," Chekov announced, filled with righteous indignation.

"What'd you do to provoke him?"

"Nothing!" Chekov protested.  He hesitated.  "Vell…not very _much_."

"And how did he get unconscious?"

"I hit him with a chessboard," Sulu volunteered.

"Very resourceful of you."

"Thank you."

Kirk regarded Carl, then nudged him with a foot.  When there was no response, Kirk kicked him harder.  That finally brought him awake with a jerk.  Carl looked around, and hastily scrambled to his feet.

"What happened?" Carl asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"That's what I'd like to know," Kirk responded promptly and sternly.

Carl winced.  "It's not my fault."

"I doubt that," Kirk said briefly.  "I told you—clearly, plainly and _repeatedly_—not to kill anyone."

If Carl had been wise, he would have denied having done anything of the kind.  Then it would have been his word against Chekov's, which at least would have put Kirk in a somewhat untenable position.  Carl wasn't wise.  "You weren't supposed to find out."

Kirk sighed.  "Alright, that settles it.  Come on."  He stood up, grabbed Carl by the arm, and pulled him towards the turbolift.

"Where are we going?" Carl asked uncertainly as he was dragged along.

"The brig."

Carl started resisting forward movement, without results.  "Aw, now wait a minute, cap'n!  I won't kill him, I promise!  I'll listen, really, I'll—"

The turbolift closed on Carl's protests.

Chekov's expression was smug.  "I told him Kirk vould not like it if he killed me."

~~~***~~~

Yep, it's that love of _Pirates_ again.  Had to turn up somewhere, y'know.  Alright, on to review responses, then the next chapter:

Cyrogenie: You ask some very good questions.  Most of which I don't really want to answer, and therefore only time will tell.  I will tell you, though, about the two-person ship.  I figure, it's Kirk.  He's flying around the galaxy.  He wants room for a girlfriend.  And don't apologize for rambling on about Jack's expressions.  I've been known to do that myself.  There's his "Puppy dog eyes, can you hurt someone who looks this cute?" expression, or his "Gee, this is really bad but everyone else is cheering so I'll smile half-heartedly" expression, or…I'll stop.

MySchemingMind1: Oh my.  That was very long.  That's not a bad thing.  Let's see…yes, I'm definitely seeing another "discussion about Kirk" coming up for the Starfleet crew.  Kirk herding the pirates like small children, exactly the image I got from that scene.  Throwing Carl out of the command chair—definitely, very big moment, on an emotional level.  Plot-wise, it was insignificant.  But then, most things in this novel are, when you come right down to it.  The whole thing's character motivated, really.  The "that was stupid" line—pretty much Kirk loosening up, realizing he just made a bad mistake, and, characteristically, accepting it with a grin and confidence that he can handle it.  And I loved the phrase about "his girl," that says it all.

Samantha: Y'know, Uhura snuck in there without me noticing.  I guess characters do that sometimes.  Here I was trying to show Kirk in a good light (as you observed) and show Harry in a characteristic troublesome light, and wasn't really thinking about Uhura at all, and she gets a good scene out of it.  Go figure.  Thank you so much for the comment about the slow acceptance of Kirk!  That's pretty much been the primary goal for, oh, the last twenty chapters I guess.  So it's very nice to know it's coming off well.

Anonymous: [calculates] Yeah, I'd say one step.  Two at most.  Good call.

MySchemingMind2: Yep, a two-seater.  Gotta have room for whatever alien/android/computer-generated girlfriend catches his eye next.  Regarding the tiny ego, am I sensing a bit of sarcasm here?  And he's definitely still maintaining that he'll walk away.  But.  We'll see…  And thanks for the encouragement about writing for a career!

Wedge: Perhaps Kirk is unconvincing as a pirate because, all along, there's been a part of him that doesn't really want to be a pirate?  Or we're just used to him as the good guy.  Regarding "kill him a little," I have no idea what that means.  I don't think Carl or Kirk knew either, though you propose a reasonable possibility.

ScifiMimi: Yeah, I know, Kirk meets Jack.  It wasn't deliberate.  Really.  But there it is.  Go figure.  More space battles I can promise, background less likely.

Alania: Chekov just kinda seems stubborn, y'know?  Like all his insistences on things being Russian inwentions.  As for the pirates, if they had more money they'd by something besides drinks.  But you don't pick up much robbing bars.  Will Kirk really sail away?  Do I even know?  [smiles sweetly]  Maybe.

Hanakin: I dunno what else.  Up to you.  So thank you.

Mzsnaz: You're behind on reviewing?  I don't think so…  And yeah, Uhura could probably beat Harry in a fight.  Which would be fun to watch.

Emp: Sounds like a useful class.

Steph AKA Datakenobi05: Well, I know you won't read this for quite some while, if you're on chapter five, but I don't know how else to respond, so…  Christopher Pike was the captain of the _Enterprise_ before Kirk.  He appeared in the first pilot (which was not accepted), which then became _The Menagerie_.  I've noticed the author with the same name.  Never fails to amuse me.

Whatshername: [briefly considers hiding in said bomb shelter] Tell ya what.  I won't drop an H-bomb on you for not posting chapter eleven, if you won't drop one on me for not e-mailing.  I've been insanely busy with schoolwork, as I will be gone ALL of Easter break and therefore an trying to get all homework out of the way ahead of the time.  Too much history to read…if you couldn't already gather that from the H-bomb reference; we're studying the Cold War.  Anyway, e-mailing, definitely on the agenda to do before I leave.  Regarding the chapters, so glad you liked that last line, I was rather fond of it myself.  : )

Unrealistic: Soft?  Maybe.  Cute?  Definitely agree there.  Wait until you read my next chapter.  But then…I guess you don't have to wait, because I'm posting it now.  Very convenient.

Onward to the next chapter.


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

Disclaimer: I regret to inform you the Star Trek is in no way the legal property of me.  Sorry for any disappointment or inconvenience this may cause you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Kirk and Carl's arrival in the brig baffled the two guards on duty.  Kirk hauled Carl in and stopped in front of the nearest guard.

"All right.  Lock him up," Kirk said briskly.

Carl, in the typical fashion of a bully, was offering little resistance now that someone else was pushing him around.  He had given up arguing, and all he did now was nod to Charlie, who was sprawled on his back on a bench in one cell.  "H'lo, Charlie."

Charlie lifted his head to glance out at the corridor, and waved, one jerk of his hand.  "Hey, Carl.  You tick off the big man too?"

Carl shrugged.  "I tried to kill a guy."

"Let me guess.  You tried to kill his pet Russian, right?"  At Carl's nod, he added, "So did you do it?"

Carl shook his head.  "Nah."

"Tough luck."

Kirk was ignoring them.  "Well?  Don't you like locking up pirates?"

The ensign looked at him, confused.  This was a situation _definitely_ not covered at the Academy.  "Um…what do you want us to do?"

Kirk pointed at Carl.  "I want you to guard him." 

The guards looked at each other uncertainly.  "I'm not sure we can do that."

Kirk stared at them.  "You're security guards!"

"But you're not our commanding officer," one guard pointed out.

Kirk considered that.  "You have a point, actually.  Hang on."  He took the three steps to the wall comm, still keeping a grip on Carl's arm, and thumbed it on.  "Kirk to security base."

There was a brief hum, and then a voice picked up. "Jones here."

"Hello, Jones," Kirk said pleasantly.  "Is Gray there?"

"Sure.  Just a minute."

A minute later, more or less, Gray came on the line.  His somewhat less than friendly greeting was, "What do you want, Kirk?"

Kirk was unperturbed.  "Actually, I'm calling about what you want.  For instance, do you want another pirate to guard?"

Gray became more cordial.  "Absolutely.  Have you got one?"

Kirk grinned.  "Most definitely."

So the guards concluded they could guard Carl.

"Try to consider my position," Kirk addressed Carl and Charlie through the flickering forcefield.  "You both threatened my authority.  If I don't do something, I'll have open mutiny within hours.  It's the nature of the game."

"So you make a deal with Starfleet?" Charlie said contemptuously.  "You're throwing in with the enemy."

Kirk shook his head, then grinned.  "Consider it more a matter of establishing a mutually beneficial line of communication."  Then he headed back to the bridge.

By now it was five o'clock.  Beta Shift had begun an hour ago, and the faces at the consoles were not the usual ones.  Except for one, and that reminded Kirk of something he'd been thinking about.

"Spock, how much time to you spend on this bridge, anyway?" Kirk asked.

Spock turned away from his station, eyebrow raised.  "Pardon?"

"I've been wondering," Kirk explained, and he had.  "You're always here.  I get here at seven; you're already here.  I leave around six.  You're still here.  You're always going back to the bridge after dinner.  Are you ever _not_ here?"

"I customarily arrive at the bridge at six.  I usually leave at ten."

Kirk stared at him.  "_PM_?"

Spock nodded curtly.  "Of course."

"But that's…that's…that's _sixteen hours_!"

"Fifteen," Spock corrected.

"Sixteen.  I'm not Vulcan, but I can count."

"Fifteen.  I spend half an hour at lunch and half an hour at dinner."

"Oh," Kirk said.  "Okay, fifteen.  But _still_, fifteen hours a day, five days a week, that's—"

"Six," Spock corrected.

"What?"

"Six days a week.  Sometimes seven."

"Okay, fifteen hours a day, six days a week, that's—"

"Ninety hours."

Kirk gave him an incredulous look.  "You work _ninety_ hours a week?  When do you _sleep_?"

"Vulcans do not require a great deal of sleep," Spock said calmly.

"When do you do anything _else_?"

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "What else?"

Kirk blinked.  "Well…don't you have any frien—no, we already settled that one.  Any hobbies?  Anything you spend your free time on?"  He stopped.  "No, because you _have_ no free time.  But anyway, don't you ever do anything just for, y'know, _fun_?"

"Fun," Spock repeated dryly.

Kirk had a pained expression.  "Please don't tell me fun is illogical.  Please, just…don't tell me."

"Very well.  I won't."

Kirk was thinking hard.  "There must be something you'd enjoy.  Has to be.  And I'll think of it.  Just give me a minute."

Spock gave him a faintly doubtful expression—that is, a faint expression, not a faint doubt—and refrained from comment.  He had just returned to his work when Kirk suddenly snapped his fingers.

"I've got it," Kirk announced.  "Just the sort of thing to appeal to that logical mind of yours."  He abandoned the center chair in favor of the railing, leaning over it towards Spock.  His eyes were dancing, enthusiasm apparent at a glance, a boyish grin spread across his face.  "Did you ever play _chess_?"

*  *  *

Kirk studied the situation with a frown.  He was outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and cornered.  Not that he wouldn't go down fighting, of course.  But still…  "You could have mentioned, just in passing, you know, that you were a grand master," he complained.

Spock looked at him over the chessboard.  "I have not played chess in some time.  And besides…you didn't ask me."

Kirk was delighted.  "Spock, that was a shockingly human response!"

Spock's expression immediately became guarded.  "I hope not."

"Come on, admit it.  You're really just one of us," Kirk teased.  "Except for the ears, of course."

"If you are attempting to distract me from the game, it is not working.  It is still your move, and you are still in check," Spock said pointedly.

Kirk heaved a sigh.  "Can't blame me for trying."  Then he set theatrics aside, and carefully studied the 3-D chessboard.  After a few moments of thought he moved a rook.

Spock swept in with his bishop.  "Checkmate."

"I want a rematch," Kirk said at once.  "I have my honor to consider, you know."

"Very well," Spock agreed.

All in all, neither one went back to the bridge that evening.  Kirk was walking on air when he finally left the rec room.  It had taken five games, but he had finally beaten Spock.  And he was pretty sure that, given the opportunity, he could do it again.


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that Star Trek does not belong to me.  I think the franchise would be in a better position if I _did_ own Trek…Spock would have had a part in _Nemesis_, which would have been about Picard's son, not his clone.  _Enterprise_ would have been fighting Romulans, not Suliban, and T'Pol and Phlox would have transferred off the ship by now.  And to back up a bit, the bridge?  Never would have happened.  So, I think it would be nice if I owned Trek.  But others richer than I have the copyrights.

I have been internet-less and insanely busy for quite some while, which explains my definite absence.  But I'm back from the trip, survived school to hit the weekend, and a new chapter is posting!  I think you'll find this one…very interesting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Since everyone was out late doing such wild things as playing chess, one might expect them to sleep in the next morning.  McCoy for one would have enjoyed sleeping in; not that he was out playing chess.  He just liked sleeping in.  But that was not to be, as the bridge crew, plus McCoy, Scott and Gray, met up in the storeroom once again.

McCoy was not overjoyed, and he felt no reservations about telling Spock so.  "I don't see why we're here," McCoy complained.

"To discuss the present situation aboard the _Enterprise_, regarding Mr. Kirk," Spock said patiently.

"I knew that," McCoy snapped.  "But why meet today?  Nothing's happened, he hasn't done anything lately.  Except fight with pirates and throw a few of his own men in the brig."

"We are meeting today because my calculations indicate that we will arrive at the Romulan Neutral Zone within 2.2572 hours," Spock said calmly, just as though he wasn't dropping a proverbial bombshell.

Judging by the surprised expressions on the faces of those present, no one, not even helm and navigation, had made this calculation.  Which would seem a little odd, except that the entire ship, unconsciously and without communication amongst themselves, had adopted the position of focusing on the now, and not thinking about the future and the Romulans looming there.  This concentration on the journey was about to become impossible to maintain though, as the journey was quickly coming to an end.

"I was right then," McCoy concluded after a moment.  "He hasn't done anything, so we're here to talk about what he's _going_ to do."

Spock ignored him, and continued with the purpose of the meeting.  "It appears that the situation of Mr. Kirk is rapidly arriving at a climax.  We have avoided any direct action thus far, but soon that will no longer be a viable option.  We need to formulate a plan."

"Wait a minute here, Mr. Spock," Gray broke in.  "I want to do something about Kirk as much as anybody, but I have to think about my men too.  We talked about this before, and agreed we didn't have the resources for direct opposition.  Nothing's changed."

"On the contrary, the circumstances have changed," Spock corrected him.  "Before, the situation allowed room for reflection, consideration, and passivity.  This is no longer the case.  We must retake the ship regardless of the risks involved in an attempt of this nature.  Otherwise the Romulans will take the _Enterprise_, nor is the fate of those aboard in any way secure."

"So we bodily take out Kirk, capture the pirates, and regain control of the ship.  Don't forget Kirk's still got her on a ten-hour countdown to self-destruct," Gray reminded him.

"I have not forgotten that," Spock said crisply, hitting just the right tone so that everyone present was immediately reminded that Spock never forgot anything.  "However, our first priority is preventing the ship from falling into Romulan hands.  The survival of the ship comes second."

"According to who?" McCoy asked bluntly.

"Starfleet.  Page 96, paragraph two, line three, of the _Starfleet Regulations and Guide_, Twelfth Edition, copyright 2262, under the heading of 'Surrender to Enemy Ships,'" Spock responded promptly.

"Oh."

"Besides which, even if this course of action does mean the eventual destruction of the _Enterprise_, while it would be a tragic loss of life and equipment, it is still a preferable option to allowing the ship to fall into Romulan hands.  A belligerent empire obtaining an up-to-date Starfleet vessel would be catastrophic for Starfleet in future encounters, as all military secrets and design advantages would be richly exploited."

"Fair enough, but we're going to just toss away four hundred lives?" McCoy challenged.

Spock gave him an impassive look.  "If this vessel falls into Romulan hands and the crew with her, we would all be far better off for a self-destruct sequence."

A chill fell over the group at that undeniably truthful statement so bluntly put.  Many of those present found themselves thinking on a class they had taken once at Starfleet Academy, in which the topic of falling into enemy hands was covered.  There was official advice on what to do if facing interrogation: talk.  Talk and talk and talk.  Tell everything right from the beginning.  Save yourself the pain, because everyone told everything by the end anyway.  Yes, if they landed in Romulan hands a self-destruct sequence would look very friendly indeed.

Many of these same people thinking that found it a little hard to stomach the idea that Kirk really would hand them over for the said fate.  And yet…he certainly seemed to be planning on it.  And while thoughts of chess and parley and, yes, starship captains, floated about, other thoughts of locked bridge controls, false negotiations, promises to kill hundreds if they didn't cooperate, armed phasers and broken promises also made their insidious way into the minds of this tiny group gathered to decide the fate of a starship.

"All right, so we don't have a choice anymore," Gray said slowly, giving voice to the thoughts of all present.  "We retake the ship, whatever the cost.  The only problem left is how."

"As chief of security, I believe you are more equipped to answer that than I," Spock acknowledged, inclining his head slightly.

"Well…" Gray said thoughtfully, "we have to target Kirk, that much is obvious.  He's the one running all the other Sharks.  Without him to coordinate and direct them, I think we could pick them off one by one pretty easily.  Kirk's not going to be easy to capture though, especially when we're unarmed.  We could storm the bridge en masse and, well…hope for the best."

"Very well, we shall leave that as our tacit plan," Spock concluded, regardless of whatever personal thoughts he may have had about a plan that involved "hoping for the best," which was hardly logical.

"So…what about the self-destruct?" Scotty asked uncomfortably, clearly worried about his beloved ship.

"There are numerous possibilities," Spock answered.  "I am not entirely convinced that Kirk would allow this ship to be destroyed."

"If our survival depends on calling Kirk's bluff, we'd better make funeral plans," McCoy said dryly.  "I don't know that he _would_ destroy us, but I'd rather not depend on him choosing not to."

"Perhaps," was all Spock would say to that.  "Our best chance is if we can decipher his code pattern, of course.  Have any more been heard?"

"I heard one," Gray volunteered.  "April2243, I think it was."

"A girl's name or a month.  And another number," Chekov concluded.

"Doesn't ring a bell," McCoy said slowly, not entirely sure his statement was true.  He had the odd feeling that he ought to recognize the reference, but he couldn't for the life of him place it.  He didn't think Kirk had ever mentioned any past girlfriends…

"It will apparently necessitate further thought," Spock pronounced.  "Unfortunate.  However, there are other possibilities.  We may be able to deactivate the self-destruct, or bribe the pirate, Reeves, to hack into the codes.  Regardless, we must do something, and I do not think our prospects are unduly grim."

"So…if all goes well and we retake the ship and don't blow up, what happens afterwards?" McCoy asked, setting aside the issues of both the codes and the self-destruct sequences.

Spock's eyebrow arched upwards.  "We will set course for the nearest Federation outpost at maximum speed, contact Starfleet Command at the earliest opportunity, and presumably return to our normal duties in the immediate future."

"Not to us.  I meant to Ji—_Kirk_.  What happens to _him_?" McCoy asked.

"Surely you are aware of the penalties for interfering with Federation shipping and harming Federation citizens, not to mention seizing Starfleet property."

"Remind me," McCoy snapped.

"Twenty years to life on a penal colony," was the bluntly given answer.

McCoy frowned.  "Penal colonies are on planets, aren't they?"

The eyebrow arched higher.  "Generally speaking."

"Doesn't seem right," McCoy muttered.

Spock blinked.  "Penal colonies should not be on planets?"

"No, they shouldn't kill him."

Spock came perilously close to frowning.  "Doctor, you are as illuminating as ever.  Suffice it to say, I have no conception of what you are trying to make known.  Please elaborate."

"Have you talked to Kirk at all?  The man's completely obsessed with stars and space travel.  Twenty years to life on a penal colony—on a _planet_—would kill him."

Spock was unperturbed.  "That is something he should have considered before he took to a life of crime."

"Yes, I know," McCoy said sourly.  "It still doesn't seem right though."

Both eyebrows went up now.  "You are becoming sympathetic towards Mr. Kirk."

"I am _not_!" McCoy denied emphatically, and glared at Spock for a moment.  Finally he sighed.  "Well, yeah, maybe a little.  He's just not what you'd expect from a pirate.  Whatever he's done, he's really kind of likable."  McCoy looked around the storeroom.  "I can't be the only one who thinks so."

"He could be a lot worse," Uhura offered.  "Some of his men are, for that matter, and he keeps them in line."

"Well, that's something," McCoy said dubiously, though it wasn't exactly the vote of agreement he'd been looking for.  Uhura wasn't the last to speak though.

"He appreciates starships."  To Mr. Scott, this was all-important.

"He knows some incredible maneuvers for ships," Sulu put in.

"And Captain Lowell could learn something from him about rule enforcement," Gray contributed.

Chekov frowned.  "He is a rat and a Cossack, but…he _is_ exciting.  But he is also a criminal and should be in the brig," he added hastily.

"Precisely," Spock said at once.  "Regardless of how interesting Mr. Kirk may be, he is still a criminal, which makes our duty clear."

"And of course you had duty uppermost in mind when you played chess with him yesterday," McCoy said pointedly.

Spock stiffened just slightly.  "That is beside the point."

"Come on, admit it.  You like him just as much as any of us."

"My personal opinions are irrelevant, Doctor," Spock said sharply.  "I am aware of my duty as a Starfleet officer."

"So we have to send him to a penal colony," McCoy snapped.

"I fail to see an alternative," Spock said.  "I hardly see a reasonable possibility in abandoning our duty and our oaths, joining Mr. Kirk's gang, and leaving him in command of the _Enterprise_.  I believe Starfleet would be somewhat perturbed by one of their starships suddenly turning criminal."

"Yes, _somewhat_," McCoy said sarcastically.

"We would undoubtedly be hunted down, the ship would be seized, we would be court-martialed, and we would all very likely accompany Mr. Kirk to the aforementioned penal colony.  Surely you are not proposing this course of action, Doctor?"

"No, I'm _not_ proposing that," McCoy said sourly.

"Nor can we allow him to sell this ship to the Romulans, as we established earlier."

"Of course ve cannot," Chekov said firmly.

"And so there are no remaining alternatives," Spock concluded.  "We must retake the ship.  Therefore we must take Mr. Kirk into custody, where he must face the consequences of his actions, as decided by Federation law."

The group was silent for a long moment.

"I wish there were some choices, but there really aren't any," McCoy admitted finally.  "And it's not like we're sending him to a kangaroo court."

"A kangaroo—"

"Don't ask, Spock.  Anyway, he'll get justice, that's fair enough."

"He _is_ a Cossack," Chekov said.

"And he _has_ attacked a lot of ships," Scott admitted.

"And robbed a lot of people," Gray added.

"It's just too bad he has to be _likable_," McCoy concluded.

~~***~~~

It is too bad, isn't it?  Makes life hard.  Now to respond:

Cyrogenie: Spock vs. Kirk chess games _are_ fun; you can get all kinds of interesting conversations and thoughts in over a chessboard.  And I did have a great holiday, thanks!

Scifimimi: Of course parley was from Moscow.  Would Chekov make that up?  

AliciF: Ah, the hazards of reading where one can't laugh out loud…I've been there.

MySchemingMind1: Did the Russians really invent parley?  Well, actually, that would be the French.  Latin-based of course.  The inventors of mayonnaise.  It's a shame about the French, really.  Completely obsessed with raisins.  Humiliated grapes.  Think about it.  Am I quoting _Pirates of the Caribbean_?  Oh definitely.  And I had fun with the Kirk, Sulu, Chekov conversation too, in which Kirk basically…doesn't react.  Even though they hit a member of his gang over the head.  And Carl did deserve it, anyway.

Alania: Hehe, I amuse myself with the Pirate lines.  'tis fun, once in a while.  And somehow I thought you might notice the appearance of Jones.  Brief, but he's there!  On more serious notes, Kirk is definitely having loyalty issues…just whose side is he on?  We shall see…

Fool of an Elf: I guess you won't get here for awhile, but that's okay, glad you're enjoying the story!  I would be delighted to send you a picture of Kirk in a leather jacket, but I don't see an e-mail on your bio page…

MySchemingMind2: Kirk is definitely treading onto dangerous ground.  And I'll tell you this, it's going to get a lot more lethal very soon.  Further details my lips are sealed on.  The Spock scenes were fun for me, I just loved the idea of having them playing chess even in the alternate universe where they're supposed to be enemies.  But I think we can safely say Kirk's trying to change that.  Though it's not an easy job, either…

Anonymous: Actually, I wrote nothing over my trip, but the muse struck with a vengeance once I got home, thankfully.  As for borrowing, you're welcome to it all.  My only rule is that you can't kill Jones.  I'm very free with story elements, as long as people ask.

Unrealistic: The chess match was fun.  And nope, couldn't resist giving Jones the world's smallest cameo.

Samantha: Well, as you can probably tell from this chapter, I wouldn't say that Chekov's come around precisely…but he is starting to like Kirk in spite of himself, which is leaving him not entirely sure where he stands.  I'm glad you liked the character moments; you're making me feel good here!  As for Kirk and Scotty…yes.  But not for a few more chapters.

GypsyGirl: Distracting from work, dear dear.  But then, I've distracted myself often enough.  An old flame would have been interesting, as would seeing Kirk get slapped.  I considered a romance, but decided it would be unnecessarily distracting from the themes I already have running.  As to your question, I don't think he does know.  I'm not sure anybody does, though I guess medical would have to.  You can be sure Spock is even more embarrassed about his human side in this universe than in the normal one.  Glad you're enjoying the story!

PearlGirl: I love Disneyland!  Or Disneyworld, whichever.  Pirate songs!  hehe…  and certainly, Spock needs friends.  He just doesn't know it.

Emp: Reading at home?  Unthinkable!

Mzsnaz: Slowly brewing…a good description of the whole story, actually.  But we're coming up on things a bit more fast-paced I think…  I don't think he'll throw all the Sharks in the brig.  Though that might not be a bad idea.

Beedrill:  Yer back!  And making heroic efforts at catching up.  Let's see…14, same Kirky quirks.  Thank you, and that is hard to say!  And no, I don't love Phlox…never forgave him for feeding the tribble to the reptile.  But I like Enterprise in general.  15, Harry's definitely a jolly pirate, and there's definitely Pirates lines.  16, I'm forcing smiles?  I think that's good.  Wonderful observations regarding Kirk and McCoy, those are issues that are going to keep on.  17, tears up?  _Really_?  I didn't know it was that sad…and I don't think his mother does know Kirk is a pirate.  I think he probably sends her a letter every six months or so just to let her know he's still alive, and doesn't mention that he's turned to crime because, deep down, he's embarrassed and doesn't want him mom to know.  As for "just James T. Kirk."  _Exactly_.  We know him as THE greatest starship captain…but that didn't happen in this universe.  If you're curious, this is the second of only three times he's been referred to by his full name in what I've written so far.  18, glad you liked the disclaimer!  19, ah, someone else who knew the name reference.  It was rather random though.  And I agree, that was one of Uhura's better moments.  20, bantering is fun.  And that Spock and happiness line was thrown in at the very end.  Funny how inspiration comes at the last moment sometimes.  21, well, it wasn't a happy conversation.  But it was better than the one Spock had with Lowell way back in chapter two.  22, I'm so glad you can see the scenes!  I picture them as I write them, and I'm glad I'm getting it across.  Along with the emotions of the scene of course.  23, considering your usual reviews, speechless is rather amazing…lol!

'tis all.  More soon.


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

Disclaimer: We regret to inform you that Star Trek is not the legal property of Tavia.  We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

I had every intention of posting this last Saturday…but I've got this AP Exam coming up in History, and I didn't have time Saturday and I haven't been online since for any appreciable time….busybusybusy.  But I read through my notes up to the present day, am determined not to think about history again until I sit down for the test, and so I'm posting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The meeting broke up fairly soon after the mutual decision that they had no choice but to take Kirk into custody and send him to a penal colony, potentially for the rest of his life.  McCoy judged, to his regret, that it was too late to go back to bed.  So he went to Sickbay instead.  It was a quiet morning.  Treated a migraine, released one patient, successfully convinced a security guard that bruises were nonfatal, and drank two cups of coffee.  A quiet morning.  Actually, closer to a quiet hour.  Kirk walked in at eight o'clock.

"Good morning," Kirk greeted him, the picture of good cheer.

McCoy glanced at him, muttered something that was probably a relative of 'good morning,' and poured a third cup of coffee.  He didn't say anything else.

"Coffee any good?" Kirk asked after a moment, a completely transparent attempt at small talk.

"It's hot," was all McCoy said, as he took a swallow.  "Want some?"

"No, thanks.  I _would_ like a better topic of conversation than coffee, though.  Got any?" Kirk asked, half joking, half legitimately uninterested in coffee as a topic.

McCoy shrugged, and considered Kirk.  "You're out early," he said finally.

"That's a little better," Kirk acknowledged.  "It's not that early though, almost eight o'clock.  I get to the bridge at seven usually."

"So I've heard."

Kirk grinned.  "And I thought you said you didn't know what went on on the bridge."

"Sure, hold me to what I said last week."

"Anyway, it can't be that early, you seem to be up and hard at work."

McCoy's eyebrows went up.  "Drinking coffee counts as hard at work?"

Kirk nodded his head in amused acknowledgement.  "Okay, fair enough.  You seem to be _up_ though."

McCoy grimaced.  "For the last three hours.  That's two hours too long."

"And obviously it's put you in a wonderful mood."

McCoy gave him a look.  "It's _morning_."

"Oh, good."

McCoy blinked.  "What?"

"I was beginning to think it was me," Kirk explained.

"Oh.  No, not really."  Though Kirk's arrival had definitely dampened his mood.  It wasn't really Kirk's fault.  But he was feeling faintly guilty about what he'd been up early to do, and about the conclusion they'd reached.  And he was feeling ridiculous for feeling guilty.  And the looming prospects of Romulans didn't help the situation either.  He told himself firmly that he was being absurd on several fronts, he should stop it, and, if he couldn't rise and shine, he could at least try to gleam a little.

Kirk, meanwhile, was back to his usual pursuit in Sickbay: poking into everything.  "So how are the long-term patients today?" he asked, wandering over to look at the row of biobeds against the back wall.

"If they had daily changes they wouldn't be long-term," McCoy said absently, calculating whether a fourth cup of coffee would be shading into unhealthy areas.

"True enough…"  Kirk trailed off and frowned, noticing something.  "Wait, we're missing one.  Yesterday you had four beds full, today there's only three."

McCoy looked up from his coffee cup.  "Hmm?"

"There's one less person here."

"That's right," McCoy remembered, "we did have a change.  Finnegan left this morning."

Kirk grinned.  "Oh, he finally woke up?"

"Yes, finally."  McCoy frowned at Kirk.  "Did you really have to hit him with maximum stun?  I was beginning to think he'd _never_ wake up."

"He had it coming," Kirk said shortly.

"Knowing Finnegan, you're probably right," McCoy admitted.

"I am."  Kirk's gaze drifted on to rest on Lowell's still-unconscious form.  "And I see the good captain is still dead to the world."

"You don't just wake up from neural damage.  He'll make a full recovery, but I don't have the facilities to treat him now."

"Too bad, it would have been interesting to meet him.  Though then again," Kirk reconsidered, "maybe not."

"Matter of opinion, I guess."

"I guess."  Kirk turned away from Lowell, dismissing that topic.  "So, got a lot to do today?"

"That depends," McCoy said, mind on the Romulans.  "Are you planning to wreak havoc with some unheard-of maneuver again?"

Kirk grinned.  "That remains to be seen.  But I'm not planning on it.  If all goes well, we can both have relatively easy days."

It was at that moment, somewhat ironically, that the red alert siren went off.

"Easy day, he says."  When Kirk's only response was a smile and a shrug, McCoy frowned.  "Shouldn't you be running for the bridge or something?"

Kirk shook his head.  "They're overreacting.  I'll give you three to one odds we just crossed into the Neutral Zone."

"No deal, you're probably right.  I don't think I'd call that overreacting though."

"I would," Kirk answered, walking over to the nearby comm unit.  He dropped into a chair, tipped the chair onto its back two legs, reached up and pressed the comm button.  "Kirk to bridge.  What's the situation up there?"

Uhura answered, and if there was a bit more tension in her voice than normal neither McCoy nor Kirk commented.  "We just passed into the Romulan Neutral Zone"—Kirk shot McCoy a satisfied look—"and long range sensors are reporting a Romulan ship approaching."

Kirk frowned.  "Time to intercept?"

"Current estimate 25.3721 minutes."  No need to say just who on the bridge had calculated that figure.

"Fine, thank you, Kirk out."  He flipped off the comm, looking thoughtful.  He glanced at McCoy.  "I'll have to get back to you on whether you'll be busy or not after I find out whose ship that is."

"Does it really matter?" McCoy asked, tone growing more serious.  "You're here to talk to Romulans.  They're Romulans."

"I'm here to talk to _one_ Romulan," Kirk corrected.  "My contact.  If it's his ship on the sensors, not a problem.  If it _isn't_ his ship…"  He shrugged.  "Problem."

"What difference does it make though?  One Romulan or another, I'm sure they'd all be happy to take the _Enterprise_."

"Sure.  Any Romulan would be happy to take the ship and kill all aboard," Kirk agreed.  "But if we want to walk away from this, it better be my contact we meet up with."

McCoy gave him a long, searching look.  "We?  Or you?  Because I don't expect to walk away from this, whatever happens."

Kirk blinked, and the front legs of the chair thumped solidly to the ground.  "What?"

"People who go to the Romulan Empire don't come back."

"They do today," Kirk said promptly.

"Do you really think your contact isn't going to be _very_ interested in taking 400 Starfleet crewmembers captive?"

"I don't care what he's interested in, everyone's leaving.  _Everyone_.  No captives, no one dies."

McCoy looked at him thoughtfully.  "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes, I really do," Kirk said firmly.

"Hmm.  Well, it's a nice idea."  It _was_ a nice idea.  And it was a nicer idea that Kirk really didn't plan to hand them all over to the Romulans.  Even though he probably wouldn't have a choice.  Nevertheless, the tension on McCoy's end of the conversation lessened considerably.

"It's not just a nice idea, it's the truth."

"Mm-hmm."

Kirk sat up straighter.  "I mean it."

"I know you do," McCoy said, "and I'm glad you do.  But it's not likely to make any difference.  Starfleet who go into the Romulan Neutral Zone don't come home."

Kirk leaned forward and locked eyes with McCoy.  "_Today they do_.  I give you my solemn word on it.  No one dies.  Not today.  I swear it."

McCoy smiled, successfully ignoring Kirk's solemnity.  "Do you really expect me to take you up on that?" he asked lightly.

"Up to you."  Kirk stood up.  "I'm going back to the bridge."

"Mind if I come?" McCoy asked suddenly.

Kirk blinked, puzzled.  "Sure, but…why do you want to?  I thought you didn't spend time on the bridge."

"I don't," McCoy affirmed.  "But I want to see your Romulan.  I hear they look like Vulcans."

"He's not my Romulan, and yes, they do."

"Must've given the _Constellation_ a turn when they made first visual contact last year."

"Must've," Kirk agreed as they left Sickbay, en route to the bridge and confrontation with the Romulans.

A confrontation that will occur…_next_ chapter.

Cyrogenie: Stockholm Syndrome?  This sounds fascinating, but for the life of me I can't place what it is…  And yeah, it would be nice if Kirk stayed, but like Spock said, Starfleet would be somewhat perturbed.

Fool of an Elf: Hehe, POTC references are fun to occasionally make.  And I sent off the picture, hope you got it!

PearlGirl: No more on Nemesis?  Aye aye, shall do!  And no one's saying Kirk hasn't had lots of girlfriends.  He just hasn't mentioned any to McCoy, which is why McCoy is puzzled that the April code sounds familiar.  I have no idea why Paramount killed him.  Well…something about finishing the old series once and for all and making Picard the definitive Trek captain.  Whatever.  Like that could happen.  Legends—and heroes—never die, bridges regardless.

Unrealistic: Definitely Kirk's likeable, only a Klingon would disagree.  And even they respect him.  No comments on the ending.  I would love to hear some of your options though!  Who knows, maybe you've guessed it.

GypsyGirl: I think McCoy _has_ to know about Spock's being half-human, for medical reasons.  Likewise, for medical confidentiality reasons, he's not going to use it in an argument.  He'd rather attack Spock's Vulcan logic anyway.

MySchemingMind: I hate to think you used up needed brain cells trying to figure out the code, when it all comes down to the simple fact that I didn't know when Robert April became captain, took a guess, and was apparently off by two years.  I'll make a note to remedy that as soon as time permits.  And y'know, I don't know what happened to Sam.  I don't think Jim knows either.  My best guess is that he went out to settle on whatever colony he was on in the regular universe, and died just like he did in the regular universe.  Next question being, what happened to Peter, which is one of two options.  Either he died because Kirk wasn't there with the _Enterprise_ to save him and the other colonists, or some other starship captain stepped into the gap and he survived.  And maybe it's strange that I don't know, since it's my universe, but I really don't know.  Maybe that makes sense.  Maybe not.  Anyway…of course McCoy wouldn't overlook the chess game.  That would be very un-McCoy-like.

Mzsnaz: Hehe, I liked that line too.  They don't have much of a plan, but they're working on it.  As for Lowell, well, like McCoy keeps saying—medical treatment and he'll be fine, no facilities right now.

Alania: It's not that Scotty's necessarily _more_ worried about the ship…it's just that, well, he's Scotty and he loves the ship.  Like Jack would be heartbroken if the _Black Pearl_ sank, even if the crew all survived.  And yes, Bones _did_ almost say Jim.  Good eye.

Samantha: Now…is this the Spock you know who's advocating action, the Spock you know who's meticulously reasoning his advocacy of action, or both?  The "voices" were spot on?  I'm pretty sure I know what you mean, and thank you!

'tis all.  More soon.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount, was created by Gene Roddenberry, and is presently overseen by Berman and Braga. I only have problems with the last bit of that statement.

I left those red alert sirens howling for quite a while, didn't I? Sorry about that, but I'm posting now, and it's a nice long chapter to make up for the wait!

CHAPTER THIRTY

The red alert sirens were still howling when Kirk and McCoy arrived on the bridge. To the uninformed observer, that arrival would have had its odd points. Kirk, of the flashing eyes and leather jacket which was so obviously not acceptable under Starfleet dress code, was given hardly a second glance, his presence unquestioned. It was McCoy, in his Starfleet-issue blue shirt, who received the surprised looks. The bridge crew gave Kirk a glance and then McCoy a longer glance, and then, despite the urgency of the present situation, commenced trying to remember the last time McCoy had come to the bridge. This was no easy task for anyone but Spock, who immediately brought to mind a specific date (three years, four months and six days previous) and then returned to his business.

McCoy didn't fail to notice the surprised expressions, and he gave them all a good-natured scowl. "I wanted to see what Romulans look like, all right?"

The bridge crew considered this, accepted it, and gave it no further thought. There were other things to think about.

"Do you have an ID on the ship yet?" Kirk asked, settling into the command chair.

There was a moment's tense silence in which one could almost _feel_ Uhura weighing the pros and cons, hazards and benefits, of answering the question. "The _Tevorak_," she said finally, reluctantly.

Kirk looked thoughtful. "Hmm."

"So is that the right one?" McCoy asked.

"I don't know," Kirk said. "And could someone cut those sirens? They're kind of…_loud_."

Someone cut the sirens, an event McCoy ignored as he stared at Kirk. "What do you mean you _don't know_?"

"I mean I don't know. The ship's name doesn't tell me."

"You don't know the name of your contact's ship?"

"Nope. Don't know his name, either. His government's not completely thrilled with the idea of the Federation finding out they have human contacts inside the Federation, so it's all very under-the-table, hushed up, James Bond kind of stuff."

"So we have no idea who we're dealing with until we're in disruptor range. Nice," McCoy said sourly.

Kirk grinned, eyes alight with mischief. "I thought it didn't make any difference."

McCoy retreated at once. "It doesn't."

Kirk had of course expected that, even provoked it. He had less expected the chimes of agreement that came in from around the bridge.

"Very true," Chekov affirmed. "One Romulan or another. All the same, really."

"It does seem to make little material difference," Spock acknowledged.

Kirk was taken aback. "Now wait a minute, it makes a difference!"

"Yes, of course it does," McCoy agreed. "Either we get killed, or you get to sell the ship and _then_ we get killed."

"No one's getting killed!" Kirk snapped.

Five doubtful expressions looked back at him. Even from Spock, though of course with Spock any expression was harder to see. Kirk read doubt on that impassive face all the same, and read it correctly.

Kirk slowly looked around the bridge, both surprised and disturbed. "You really think I'm going to just hand you all over to the Romulans without a backward glance?"

The silence on the bridge was a definite affirmative.

"I'm not," Kirk said. "I'm not a slaver. I deal in ships and supplies, not in people, and I'm not giving anybody to the Romulans."

"All right, it's not part of your plan," McCoy acknowledged. "You say it isn't, and I believe you. But I don't think you're going to have a choice. And frankly, if you have to choose between the deal or us, well…" He shrugged, a shrug that gave little doubt he had a poor opinion of their prospects.

"That isn't true," Kirk said quietly. "But there's no way for me to prove that to any of you. I won't even ask you to believe me on faith; I can guess how far _that_ would get me. So we're going to have to wait and see."

The moment very, very easily could have descended into tense silence. But, as so rarely seems to happen in life, fortunately there was a conveniently timed distraction.

Uhura's board beeped. She glanced at the read-out. "Incoming message, prerecorded."

"Main screen," Kirk said crisply. There was no response. After a moment, Kirk turned and looked back at Uhura. "I said—"

"I heard you," Uhura said flatly. "I don't know what you're going to do. But I'm not going to help you."

A faint expression of irritation crossed Kirk's face. Then he shrugged, stood up, and walked back to Uhura's station. He studied the switches for a moment, then flipped a few. The starfield faded from the main screen, replaced by a close up of a solemn-faced man with upswept eyebrows matched by pointed ears. Uhura's brow creased. She looked at Kirk, then back at her board. She pressed several buttons, to no avail.

Kirk was already walking back to the command chair, his back to Uhura, but anyone would have thought he had seen her pressing her board. "I rerouted it to the command chair," he tossed over his shoulder. "Two years of the Academy taught me _something_."

That was a statement that might have garnered some attention under different circumstances. But under present circumstances, there was a Romulan on the viewscreen, and he was rather more distracting.

He was no Vulcan. That much was obvious. He had the ears and the eyebrows, but he also had lines in his face that bespoke emotions, lines that marked laughter, others tracing the path of past sorrows and present weariness. Yes, this was a man who showed emotions, and even if the subtle facts of his face had not been enough to show that, he made it adamantly clear by beginning with a smile. "Greetings, Jim Kirk. We obtained your message some days ago, and have been awaiting your arrival since. You have had remarkable fortune, and we are hopeful that that fortune may spread to aid our glorious empire as well.

"Undoubtedly you are wondering regarding the recorded message. It is a risk to carry out this meeting, and I have no desire to bring another war upon my people. The less evidence of our meeting in existence for the Federation to find, the safer we all will be. Adjustments can be made in our systems to prevent the recording of any communication carried on, and we are making these adjustments at present; we hesitated to do so earlier, as these modifications also limit our communication range. In any case, it is a simple matter to delete recorded messages, and, once we have completed our amendments, live conversation will also be safe. We shall contact you shortly. Romulan Empire out."

The message ended, and the starfield returned.

"You should approve, Mr. Spock," Kirk said calmly. "That's rather logical."

"Practical only," Spock said coldly.

"Seems to me," McCoy said, "that he's very concerned about not letting the Federation know about this." A pause. "He's not going to want four hundred Starfleet witnesses."

"I don't care what he wants," Kirk said firmly. "I don't sell people."

Silence.

Kirk glanced around the bridge. "You don't believe me, and you're not going to cooperate, are you? Any of you?"

Spock put it into a single word. "No."

Kirk nodded slowly. "All right. I had hoped we could do this more or less friendly. But I guess not." He flipped a switch on the arm of the command chair. "This is Kirk speaking. Harry, O'Riley, I need you on the bridge. Now. Kirk out." He flipped the comm off, and looked at the grim faces around him. "Looks like it has to be armed-camp style. For which I am truly sorry."

Silence descended, a silence that could have grown and grown until it was oppressive and there was no room for anything else. But, probably fortunately, the silence was broken early on.

"So they really do look like Vulcans," McCoy said irrelevantly.

Kirk jumped at the distraction. "Like I told you."

"Kind of amazing resemblance, actually," McCoy mused.

"There are, perhaps, some slight similarities," Spock acknowledged.

"_Slight_?" McCoy repeated, affronted. "The guy could be _related_ to you!"

"I find that highly unlikely."

McCoy had tossed the relative comment off without think about it. But he was thinking about it now, and having another thought. "Come to think of it, he looks a _lot_ like your father."

"I fail to see a resemblance," Spock said in clipped tones.

"I think he looks just like him. Could be his twin, even," McCoy challenged.

"I believe I am aware of the appearance of my own father," Spock said icily.

Which only served to aggravate McCoy. "Well I saw him last month too, when we were carrying delegates to the Babel conference, and _I_ think they look alike."

"My father is a respected ambassador of Vulcan. This is a Romulan commander who—"

"I'm not talking about their pasts, I'm talking about their appearances!"

"One's past can often work to shape one's appearance, though certainly genetics play a vital role. I find it unlikely that any genetic link exists between—"

"Don't lecture me about _genetics_, you green-blooded—"

"Gentlemen, this is _hardly_ the time," Kirk broke in.

To the great surprise of the bridge crew, both men promptly shut up. No one had ever yet achieved _that_. The bridge crew stared at Kirk with something akin to awe. They were feeling more friendly towards him at that moment then they had all day, and there's no telling what might have become of it if Harry and O'Riley hadn't arrived on the bridge just then. This reminded them all very abruptly that Kirk wasn't only the guy who had broken up an argument between Spock and McCoy; he was also the guy who had hijacked their ship and was about to sell her to the Romulans. Hostility returned.

"You've got good timing," Kirk greeted them. "You beat Gray here."

O'Riley looked at him questioningly. "Gray?"

"If I read my Starfleet officer right, there's going to be a line of security guards coming off that turbolift very soon." He glanced around the bridge as he said that. Neither McCoy, Sulu, Chekov, nor Uhura would meet his eye, which told him something right there. Spock met his gaze levelly with his usual expression of somber repose, which told him nothing.

"O'Riley, watch the door," Kirk directed. "Harry, just…keep an eye out."

"Got it, cap'n," O'Riley responded, moving to cover the turbolift doors.

"Sure, Jim," Harry answered.

And then silence did arrive, and stay, for a long five minutes. When the computer finally signaled an incoming message, it was a welcome relief to everyone. Even to the ones who would have liked nothing better than for Kirk to never talk to any Romulans.

He wasn't going to talk to Romulans just yet though. Several things happened nearly simultaneously, almost as though one had triggered all the others, and the possibility exists that it had. The computer announced an incoming message, and Kirk moved to put it on the main screen. Before he could though, the turbolift doors slid open. Kirk's hand moved away from the comm and went straight to his phaser.

The security guards never had a chance. Their one slender hope had been to catch Kirk by surprise, swarm the bridge with half-a-dozen brilliant red security guards, enlist the aid of the bridge crew, and, by sheer dint of numbers, lay hold of Kirk before he could formulate a defense. Maybe it wasn't a very good plan. But when he was armed and they weren't, surprise and numbers were about all they had. Unfortunately, strength of numbers could be effectively defeated when all those numbers had to funnel through one turbolift door. And Kirk had already anticipated their arrival, neutralizing any power of surprise.

O'Riley stunned all but one practically before they could make it over the threshold. One man successfully ducked and rolled and came up past O'Riley, but also came up directly in Kirk's line of fire. One shot, and that settled the last of Gray's security force. The bridge crew slowly sat down again. None of them had had time for so much as a step away from their stations before it was all over.

"Glad we settled that before we had the Romulans on the screen," Kirk said mildly. He was apparently unbothered by being an active participant in the first gun battle on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ in over four years.

"So what do we want to do with them?" O'Riley asked with a jerk of his head to the unconscious security guards.

Kirk shrugged. "Leave 'em, they're not going to do anything. Stay in the doorway of the turbolift though. As long as the door's open the 'lift won't move, and as long as it doesn't move they can't get another one up here with more security guards."

"Good thought," O'Riley acknowledged, moving to lean against the doorframe.

"That's my job," Kirk said with a grin. "And meanwhile, we've got Romulans waiting on the line."

Kirk flipped a switch on the arm of the chair, and the star field was again replaced by the face of the Romulan commander. The same commander, of course; the one who may or may not bear a startling resemblance to Spock's father, depending on who you asked.

"Jim Kirk." The barest ghost of a smile played in the corner of the Romulan commander's mouth. "The chair suits you."

Kirk smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for coming to meet with me."

"Your proposal could be a great thing for my empire. I am aware of my duty."

"A great thing, eh?" Kirk repeated lightly.

The Romulan commander smiled. "A ship of our enemies? A very great thing indeed. What value do you place on it?"

Kirk grinned. "What are you offering?"

"Forty million Romulan credits."[]

Kirk's eyebrows rose. "You insult the ship. Double that."

"Forty-five million."

"Seventy-five million."

"Fifty million. And that is my final offer."

Kirk wasn't intimidated by this age-old bartering phrase, and simply responded with another. "Seventy million. Take it or leave it."

"I believe I will take it."

"Then we have an agreement," Kirk concluded, managing admirably to keep all surprise out of his voice. It was a higher price than he'd expected. He wouldn't have balked at dropping another ten million. Apparently the Romulans really, really wanted the _Enterprise_. Not that he could blame them, he thought with a faint pang of regret. He pushed that aside. Seventy million credits. He could see that sleek little ship he'd buy already. Harry was practically drooling.

"Excellent, then," the Romulan Commander said, obviously pleased.

Spock quietly left his station to stand behind the command chair. If Kirk noticed, he didn't indicate it.

"How are we going to handle the medium of exchange?" Kirk asked. "We'd have a hard time spending Romulan credits in the Federation."

"We have thought of that. I propose a barter system, using products of value in both empires; liquid plasma, dilithium crystals, warp reactors, and so on."

"Agreed, provided you throw in a couple of bottles of Romulan—" Kirk stopped mid-sentence. In a heartbeat he had his phaser out, aimed, and fired.

Spock was caught with one hand outstretched, fingers bent, scant inches from Kirk's shoulder. He stared, unmoving, at Kirk for a long moment before the stun took its full effect. Then his eyes shut and he slumped towards the floor.

Kirk caught him halfway down. "I'm sorry, Spock," he said quietly. "I mean that." Then he lugged Spock over to his station and propped him against his console in a sitting position. Then he straightened, strapped his phase pistol back on his belt, and turned back towards the command chair. And stopped.

Chekov had left his station and was very deliberately advancing.

"Whatever you're trying to prove, it's not worth it," Kirk said quietly.

"I vill not let you sell the _Enterprise_."

"You can't stop me."

At that moment, Chekov felt quite certain that there was very little in the galaxy that he wouldn't give for a phaser just then. But all the phasers were in the locked armory or on the Sharks. Or on the… It hit him like a meteor strike. _Carl's phaser_. He'd been holding it when they knocked him out. He hadn't been holding it when they carried him out. Therefore it had to be in the Rec Room somewhere. This would have been a very, very useful memory an hour ago. As of now, it was nothing but a vain regret, remembered much too late.

All this thinking had taken just about as long as it took for Kirk to draw his own phaser.

"Vhat is the setting?" Chekov asked.

"Kill."

"Liar."

Kirk tipped his head in acknowledgment. "All right. Stun. Which means I'll use it."

"I do not believe you."

Kirk fired. "You should have," he said quietly.

Chekov slumped to the floor and lay where he had sprawled.

The _Enterprise_ computers would have informed any askers that the temperature of the bridge remained unchanged. That fact not withstanding, everyone felt the chill.

Kirk looked around the bridge, phaser drawn. "Well? Do I need to stun anyone else?"

No one answered. Likewise no one looked at him.

Kirk looked around the bridge once more, then nodded. "All right," he said. Then he clipped his phaser back to his belt, sat down in the command chair, and returned his attention to the viewscreen and the somewhat confused Romulan commander. "Sorry about that. Like I was saying—throw in a couple of bottles of Romulan Ale, and we have a deal."

The Romulan commander stared at him, obviously completely thrown off the original track of thought. "I…believe we can handle that."

Kirk smiled pleasantly. "Good. That just leaves one thing then. I need a way to get four hundred people back to the nearest Federation outpost."

The Romulan commander's eyes narrowed. "For what reason?"

Kirk's smile got a bit tighter. "Four hundred people in this crew, and we're not going to make it back to the Federation under our own power."

"I am not convinced that you need to get four hundred people back to the Federation."

"I am," Kirk said levelly.

An edge entered the Romulan's voice. "Generally in exchanges of this nature the crew is understood to be included."

"Not today," Kirk said flatly. "I'm not a slaver, I don't sell people. I may be low, but I'm not that low."

"This is not a matter of slavery. This is a matter of the security of the Romulan Empire, and the handling of four hundred witnesses to a questionable business transaction."

Kirk didn't have to turn around to know that McCoy's expression was smug indeed.

"It's close enough to the same thing that I'm not doing it. If that's what the deal is dependent on, there is no deal."

The Romulan commander hesitated.

"Besides," Kirk threw in, "it's not like they know who you are and could go back to Starfleet with your name. They don't have any proof of what's happening here; the Romulan government could easily deny everything."

The Romulan commander hesitated a moment longer, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well. There is a risk of war, but such is the case no matter what we do today. I myself would sacrifice the lives of the crew for the greater needs of the security of my empire, but I appreciate that you are not bound by the same duty as I. We will do things your way."

"Thank you." Kirk was silent for a moment, then made the observation, "You really want this ship, don't you?"

"Yes," the Romulan commander said simply, "we really do."

And then Kirk asked. It was a simple question, really, perhaps even an obvious one. Also one Kirk had worked hard not to think about for the last week, his thoughts, at first deliberately and in time almost unconsciously, shying away and glancing off every time they came near it. But now he was asking.

"So…what are you going to do with the _Enterprise_, anyway?"

The Romulan commander seemed faintly surprised. "Dismantle it, of course."

"Dismantle her?" Kirk repeated. If he had ever thought about it, he would have known that was coming. It was obvious. Why else would they want her? But he had never thought about it.

"Naturally. What other reason would there be for my superiors to be so interested, than to give our technicians the opportunity to examine a Starfleet vessel? Do you perchance know anything about the working of the weapon systems?"

"No. Not really."

"And of course we're particularly interested in the shield frequencies."

"Right."

"Well in any case, once our technicians can begin work, invaluable information will begin coming in."

Kirk wasn't listening. Not to the Romulan commander. He was listening to the thousand and one voices swirling through his mind. Some his own, some friends, some enemies, and every one clamoring for attention at once. "Dismantle it, of course." "She's a beautiful ship." "Worth a fortune." "You don't need the gang after you make your fortune. This ship's mine." "Dismantle it, of course." "Nice? She's beautiful." "Do you know what a _starship_ is worth to the _Romulans_?" "A beautiful ship." "Dismantle it, of course." "Don't you know what that'll mean for _Starfleet_?" "It's not like we're keeping her." "Dismantle it." "A beautiful ship." "Dismantle it." "A beautiful ship." "Dismant—"

"No deal," Kirk said abruptly.

The Romulan commander blinked. "Pardon?"

"I said no deal. It's off, I'm not selling, I'm sorry I wasted your time."

The Romulan commander was clearly struggling to figure out just what this was about. "You're…you're canceling our agreement? For no apparent reason? _Why_?"

Kirk shrugged, almost apologetically. "I changed my mind."

The Romulan commander's face hardened. "I can't let you do that."

Kirk was already starting to readjust and gain some footing in this new situation. "But I _can_ do that. I reevaluated the situation, and selling the _Enterprise_ is no longer a viable option. Again, I apologize for wasting your time."

The Romulan commander leaned forward. "And again, I can't let you do that. My government wants this ship _very_ much."

"You can't have her," Kirk said flatly.

"Then I am authorized to take her."

"You don't want to do that," Kirk said quietly, a statement that was as much insight as threat.

The Romulan commander was well aware of that insight. "No, I do not," he said honestly. "But I am aware of my duty to my praetor and my empire." He sighed, a weary sigh. "It is a pity. I like you, Jim. We're alike in many ways. In a different reality, we could have been friends."

"I thought we were."

The Romulan commander's eyes were sad, but firm. "You were wrong."

With that the transmission was ended, and the screen blinked back to the friendly stars and the unfriendly Romulan ship looming among them. Soon enough that ship would come alive with blazing weapons and engage the battle, but for this moment all was still.

The bridge was silent. Kirk had managed to handle the Romulan commander. Handling those a bit closer to home was going to be harder.

Kirk knew, though his eyes remained on the stars, that every eye was fastened on him. The emotions varied widely. The two pirates were angry. The three conscious members of Starfleet were not. But all were united in that they were shocked. And very confused. And staring at Kirk.

The silence, and the tension, were becoming suffocating.

"Someone say something," Kirk said into the silence. "Please." It was just short of a plea.

As was typical when Kirk addressed a group in general, it was Harry who answered. What was not typical was his cold tone and colder words. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, Jim?"

Kirk sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I wish I knew. I _wish_ I knew."

----------

Cyrogenie: Ah, so _that's_ what Stockholm Syndrome is. And yeah, it kinda sorta maybe does make sense.

Gurney Halleck: I have a suspicion that FF has been messing up Author Alerts lately…who knows, it messes up often enough. Congratulations on the code! Regarding Spock, well, if you want to go scrolling through my responses in the past I'm sure I've said this somewhere before…but I'll just say it again it's easier: Spock knows a lot of really random stuff. But human history, especially in this universe, isn't his strong point. Chemistry, math, logic, the teachings of Surak, he's going to know _everything_. But human explorers? Not very likely.

Crazy Elleth: You only _just_ saw Pirates? My dear, you've been _deprived_! Lol, kidding…but wasn't it a great movie?

MySchemingMind: "getting their lives tangled up together." Y'know, that about sums up the whole goal of the last twenty chapters…nice turn of phrase. I love your analyses of Kirk and McCoy here, you're getting it very nicely. So either you're insightful or I'm actually writing it well…or a little of both?

Alania: Someone noticed Finnegan! Yes, he's been unconscious in Sickbay, hidden up my sleeve for the last twenty-odd chapters, waiting for the right moment to reappear and reveal that Kirk never killed him to begin with. Definitely, Lowell wouldn't be making first visual contact with the Romulans. This is a situation where another starship and captain stepped in to take the place of the _Enterprise_ and Kirk, because, well, _someone_ had to make visual contact.

Mzsnaz: Yep, the Constellation, not Lowell, see note above for more on that subject. Yeah, Kirk is showing faith in his contact…or he's just taking a risk. Because risks are his business! When man first looked at the stars—I'll stop.

Beedrill: 24, ah, what is happening to Kirk? A very good question. 25, certainly he got his gang's confidence back…_that_ time. 26, y'know, I believe you did say something about Carl causing trouble. Good call. Glad you enjoyed my blatantly stolen parley! 27, as far as I know, it _is_ the same Jones. :) I didn't make the chessboard connection…other than that in the previous chapter I was trying to think of what might be lying around the rec room that Sulu could hit Carl with and I thought of chess because of Kirk and Spock…

Samantha: Note that Gary Mitchell wasn't the last person Kirk killed, so Finnegan _could've_ been dead…but it does jive better if he isn't. And if you're wondering, yeah, I've known he wasn't dead ever since Kirk first shot him. Hope you liked the Romulan scene!

Unrealistic: Sorry…I missed something somewhere…what are you right about? And it would've been interesting for Lowell to wake up…but he still needs that neural treatment. He isn't due to be awake just yet.

And I must be going. More when I can!

* * *

[] I have absolutely no idea how much the Enterprise is worth. None. So I picked the number out of thin air, and if anyone _does_ have any idea what one would sell a starship for, please tell me!


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by others richer than I.  Don't sue.

Another chapter for you!  What will be the results of Kirk's decision not to sell the ship?  Well, let's just see, shall we…?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The brief respite from interaction with the Romulan ship was just that—brief.  Those aboard the _Enterprise_ had only a moment to spend on recriminations, self-doubt, anger and accusations.  Harry had only just finished his second sentence ("He was going to hand us millions!") when the ship gave a lurch, followed by several smaller shakes.

Kirk hung onto the arms of the command chair with a death grip.  "What was that?" he demanded.

The response that would have come from Spock's station was absent.  Kirk looked that direction and swore.  Spock was still unconscious.  Kirk pushed out of the chair and looked around the bridge.  His eyes lighted on McCoy.  "What do you know about reading sensors?"

McCoy blinked.  "Some…"

"Good.  Cover Spock's station."

McCoy looked at him dubiously, shrugged, walked over to the science station, stepped over Spock, and leaned in to look at the sensor readouts.  Kirk's eyes roved the bridge, trying to think the situation out.  Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"He's just going to tell you that they fired their disruptors," Harry snapped.  "Which is _great_, because not only are we out _millions_, we're going to get _killed_—"

"Harry, _save it_!" Kirk said shortly.

"I will," Harry said grimly, leaving no doubt that the conversation would be continued.  If they weren't killed first.

Kirk ignored Harry.  "Bones, what do sensors say?"

McCoy looked almost apologetic.  "They fired their disruptors."

Kirk took a breath.  "A little more than that?"

McCoy squinted at the screen.  "Uh…shields absorbed the blast, no damage…shields at 95%.  Romulans are coming around again."

"Charge phasers…"  Kirk looked at Chekov's station and groaned.  "Damn it."  Chekov, too, was still unconscious.  Kirk's eyes went to Sulu.  "Can you—?"

Sulu shook his head.  "His station _or_ mine, yes.  His station _and_ mine, no."

Though this was somewhat less than an ideal response, it did serve to indicate something important.  Though no words had been spoken, the ban on helping Kirk had definitely been lifted.  Kirk didn't have time to notice.  He was busy crossing the bridge and sliding into Chekov's station.

"Let's see just how long it's been since that last class at the Academy," Kirk muttered, scanning Chekov's controls.

Several buttons, controls and a screen or two for navigation—they could be ignored.  A screen for targeting phasers—okay.  Buttons for firing phasers, others for photon torpedoes—clear enough.  Screen for tracking enemy vessels—Romulans incoming!

"Evasive maneuvers," Kirk snapped off to Sulu, who sent the ship into a complicated pattern of loops and turns.

"The Romulans are firing disruptors," McCoy announced, reasonably certain that he was reading the sensors correctly.  "They missed," he added a moment later, a fact that most people had inferred from the lack of disruption in the _Enterprise_'s fields.

"Targeting photon torpedoes…" Kirk said, hoping very much that that really was what he was doing.  It looked right.  "…and firing."

The screen flared with a moment's light.

"Direct hit," McCoy said, sounding faintly surprised, either at the hit or at his ability to read it.

Kirk's eyebrows went up.  "That class on weapon systems was better than I thought."  He checked the screen for tracking enemy vessels, and was more than a little surprised.  "The Romulans…are leaving?"

"At warp six," McCoy volunteered.

All sensors agreed.  The Romulan vessel was flying back towards the heart of the Romulan Empire with nary a backward glance.

"That was too easy," was Kirk's suspicious take on the situation.  But moments passed with no change in the Romulan ship, and Kirk dared to relax a little.  Maybe it wasn't so surprising.  The Romulan Commander really _hadn't_ wanted to fight.  Which meant the almost-welcome distraction of an external conflict would no longer keep attention off the internal conflict.

"Aren't we going after him?"

Kirk looked at Harry.  "And why would we do that?"

"It might not be too late to talk him into buying the _Enterprise_."

Kirk abruptly felt very tired, an oddly emotional rather than physical feeling.  And if he was going to deal with Harry, he wanted to do it from the center chair, not the navigator's station.  He made the change, and then regarded Harry.

"We don't want him to buy the _Enterprise_."

"_Some_ of us do!"

Kirk shook his head.  "It's too late now anyway."

Harry stared at Kirk for a moment, and when he spoke again his tone had undergone a change, from angry to conciliatory.  "Jim…I just want to know…_why_?"

Kirk was caught between genuine annoyance and genuine dismay.  "I told you, I don't know.  It just wasn't right to sell the _Enterprise_."

"That isn't an answer."

"I _know_ that," Kirk said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"This is a waste of time," O'Riley announced.  Sometime during the conversation he had let the turbolift doors shut, and when he approached them now they reopened on an empty turbolift.  "I'm going to tell the others."

Kirk, Harry and O'Riley all knew what that meant.  Not just the direct meaning, but the significance as well.  Kirk's position had been under attack before when he threw the Sharks off the bridge.  This, however, was many times more serious.

Harry looked uncertainly from Kirk to O'Riley and back again.  Kirk was silent.  What was there to say?  In their eyes, and in the eyes of the other Sharks, he was guilty.  Harry, unhappy but reasonably sure, followed O'Riley.  The turbolift doors slid neatly shut behind them, and silence descended once more upon the bridge.  At least it wasn't a tense silence.  It was, however, a very perplexed silence.  Not a single conscious Starfleet officer had the faintest idea what to say to this new and unanticipated circumstance.  But there was one who was willing to talk anyway.

"So…why _didn't_ you sell the _Enterprise_?" McCoy asked.

Kirk rested his elbow on the arm of the command chair and his forehead against his fist.  "You tell me."

Behind him, McCoy shrugged.  "Me, I'm very confused right now.  Of course, I'm a doctor, not a starship captain—"

Kirk's head snapped up and his arm slammed down.  "If you haven't noticed," he said tightly, "I'm not one either."

McCoy continued unperturbed.  "And I'm a doctor, not the leader of a gang of pirates.  I don't understand how the breed works."

"Thanks," Kirk said sarcastically.

McCoy shrugged again.  "I don't know why you're asking me anyway.  You're the one who just decided not to sell a ship after planning on it for a week.  Which is very good and I'm glad you did, but I don't understand it."

"Am I to understand that you have chosen not to sell the _Enterprise_?"  That perfectly calm, perfectly even tone could belong to only one person.  Kirk had used a low setting on his phaser.  Spock was awake.

"If you understand it, that's more than any of the rest of us can say," McCoy put in.

"I was not claiming to understand reasons and motivations.  I was merely asserting an acknowledgement of the facts," Spock said, calmly rising to his feet and ignoring the issue of how he had gotten back to his station.

"I didn't sell the _Enterprise_," Kirk confirmed.

Spock regarded him thoughtfully.  "Why?'

"Analyze it for me."  On the surface, it was an almost sarcastic request, a mere deflection of a question, practically a joking reference to Spock's computer-like tendencies.  But somewhere, deep down, Kirk really did want an answer from Spock.

Spock considered, and just what prompted his answer is hard to say.  Habit, honesty, or possibly Kirk's recent phaser use.  All are possibilities.  "It was not logical."

Kirk's face tightened.  "I see."  He pushed out of the command chair and stalked across the bridge to the turbolift.  "I'm gonna go talk to the Sharks," he tossed over his shoulder, stepped into the turbolift, and was gone.

McCoy scowled at Spock.  "Nice.  Encourage him, why don't you."

Spock's eyebrow climbed.  "His action was _not_ logical."

McCoy just groaned.

"Nor was it without merit," Spock continued.  "However, it is also most inexplicable, and I am hesitant to assign praise where I do not understand motivation.  He stood to gain much from selling the _Enterprise_.  There was nothing to gain from refusing the business deal.  With the one option, considerable wealth.  With the other, censure from the pirates, potential loss of position.  I do not understand it."

"Welcome to the club," McCoy said dryly.

It was a club with a rapidly growing membership.  They say that only gossip moves faster than warp ten, and word was rocketing through the _Enterprise_.  The Starfleet crew reacted with approval, and more than a little confusion.  The Sharks were reacting with equal confusion.  But no approval.  And Kirk knew it.

Nevertheless, he was determined to beard the lion in his den, so to speak.  A confrontation with the Sharks sometime in the immediate future was inevitable.  Just as well to seek it out and meet it head on.  And who knows.  Maybe he'd be able to talk his way out of this.  And maybe pigs would fly.

It wasn't hard to find the Sharks.  They were exactly where Kirk had expected them to be.  Gathered in the Mess Hall.  Talking loudly.  Though he only had a moment to register the talking.  As soon as he walked into the room the Sharks fell deadly silent.  With all eyes on him Kirk strolled across the room, nonchalantly perched on the edge of a table, and tried hard to appear calm, collected, and in control.  Due to long practice, he actually succeeded reasonably well.

"So.  I guess we need to talk."

There was practically a rumble among the Sharks, from which only one statement made itself clear.  "What did you _do_?"

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, hoping it looked relaxed and not defensive.  "I assume you mean my not selling the _Enterprise_."

"We mean your throwing away millions," O'Riley said coldly.

Kirk didn't fail to notice the way O'Riley stood in the center of the group, was the first to speak, and the others were taking their cues from him.  Any time a leader went down, there was a position to be seized.  It was O'Riley Kirk would have to watch.  And unfortunately, O'Riley was smarter than Charlie.

Kirk shrugged as though unconcerned.  "It was a bad plan."

"It was _your_ plan," O'Riley said pointedly.  "Ever since we got here, you've been talking about selling the ship to the Romulans."

"True," Kirk acknowledged.  "Because it looked like a good plan, but once we got here, there were certain other aspects to take into account."

"_What_ other aspects?  The plan was working, he was offering us millions!"

"There's other things that matter besides the money," Kirk said sharply.

"See, that's it, right there," O'Riley said, bringing his hand down against the tabletop next to him for emphasis.  "Something's happened to you, since we got on this ship.  You used to have your head on straight, and now you're spending too much time with Starfleet and getting strange ideas into your head."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kirk said, eyes narrowing.

"Don't give me that, you know _exactly_ what I mean.  This 'other things matter besides money' business.  Because that's wrong.  Money's the only thing that counts, the only thing you can think of if you want to get by in this galaxy.  Make money, and watch out for yourself.  Nobody and nothing else matters, in the end.  You used to know that.  But you lost it somewhere."

Kirk found himself reminded of another voice, his own saying something very similar, not so very long ago.  "I've got one loyalty, and that's to Jim Kirk.  The rest of the galaxy just better watch out for itself."  It felt longer ago.  Maybe because it wasn't, quite, true anymore.

"Maybe I haven't lost anything," Kirk said quietly.  "Maybe I've found something."

O'Riley stared at him, and frowned.  "Like that.  What the hell does that _mean_?"

Kirk shook his head.  "I don't know.  Look, the point is—"

"The point _is_," O'Riley interrupted, "we want to know why you didn't sell the ship.  Why you threw away millions.  Millions that belonged as much to us as to you.  _Specifically_ why?  'It was a bad plan' isn't good enough."

Kirk looked around.  He didn't have an answer.  He really didn't know…exactly.  Yet he knew the answer was there, somewhere, someplace on the fringes of his understanding.  He struggled for the words, groping for the answer he couldn't quite reach.  "They were going to dismantle her," he said at last.  "They were going to strip her open, pull her wide apart.  They wanted to…study her, violate her.  It just…wasn't right."

O'Riley stared at him as though he'd gone mad.  "It's a _ship_," he said very slowly and clearly.  "A ship, not a girl!  _It's a hunk of machinery_."

"No.  She isn't."  And that, at least, was one thing Kirk was very sure about.  Whether he could explain it or not.

"A hunk of machinery," O'Riley repeated.  "Worth millions.  Not that those millions are doing us any good if we don't _sell_."

A grumble of assent rose from the Sharks, without a single dissenting voice.

Kirk looked from one pirate to another, searching every face for a glimmer of sympathy.  He found none.  "You don't understand," he said finally.  "None of you understand."

"That's the whole point!" O'Riley snapped.  "We _don't_ understand.  We don't understand at all what's gotten into you lately."

"I'm trying, Jim, I really am," Harry said honestly.  "But I don't get it.  We had a fortune, _right there_…and you just let it go."

"It's not _about_ the money!" Kirk said fervently.  "Can't you see that there are some things that matter more than the money?  Can't _any_ of you see that?"

Kirk's fevered gaze met with stony silence and blank expressions.  Finally his eyes dropped and his shoulders slumped.  But only for a moment.  Then he squared his shoulders and met their gazes levelly.  "I have a plan," he said firmly.

"Do you," O'Riley said in something less than a believing tone.

"I do."

"I hope so," O'Riley said, moving one hand to the hilt of his phase pistol in a subtle but altogether clear message.  "I hope so."

Kirk nodded curtly, turned, and left the room at a steady pace, head high.

As soon as the doors shut behind him he shoved his hands into the pockets of he leather jacket, bent his head as though walking into a driving wind, and strode down the corridors of the _Enterprise_ as though the devil himself were after him.

He had no plan.  He had no ideas.  He didn't even know where he was walking to.  If there was one thing he was good at, one thing that had never failed to serve him well, it was his ability to come out of any situation with his head up and his feet under him.  But now, the galaxy had slipped out from beneath him and he couldn't get his balance back.  His only consolation was that he knew he was right.  Which was small consolation when he didn't even know _why_ he was right.

----

MySchemingMind: Y'know, the Enterprise probably would be priceless.  But you can hardly put that out as a bargaining price, lol.  Glad you liked McCoy's smugness (he is very smug often, isn't he?) and Spock's nervepinch attempt (I tried to sneak him up behind Kirk with just the one line on him walking up to behind the chair) and of course Chekov (definitely he was more mad than brave; besides, what did he have to lose?  He didn't know Kirk wasn't going to sell the ship).  And as for McCoy's faith in Kirk…we'll be seeing where that goes.  Good call on the Sharks' loyalty.  Speaking of strapping people to torpedoes (which I think would be strictly against one's duty as a Starfleet officer, unfortunately) reminds me of _Dr. Strangelove_.  Great movie, just watched it in history.  Right, that's irrelevant, I'll move on…

AliciaF: It's always amused me about Sarek and the Romulan Commander…one actor playing two races that look identical.  Foolish casting, that, though Mark Lenard had wonderful performances as both.  And it wouldn't surprise me if Spock did see the resemblance—he was just being stubborn and refusing to agree with McCoy.  Latinum would be a good thing to sell for, although I'm not certain if they had latinum in the original series…that was the Ferengi's money, pretty much, wasn't it?

Alania: Suspenseful?  Really?  Cool!  And certainly the actor has something to do with the resemblances!  So, what _does_ Kirk plan to do with the Enterprise?  A very good question indeed.  Oh good, you saw _Nemesis_!  It _was_ very sad…have you seen the DVD with the deleted scenes?  Most of them aren't very good but you _must_ see the scene with Picard, Data, and the bottle of wine.  Sniff.

PearlGirl: I'm glad you liked the voices, I wasn't sure how well that was working.  And of course the Enterprise is the best ship!  And of course everyone wants her.  Which is often a problem…  Oh, you do have the DVD!  Okay, good, _Château de Picard_, must see!

Crazy Elleth: Yes, Kirk does love the ship, and yes, it did get him into trouble.  Good call.  I would actually be interested in that random quote, random is fun!

Mzsnaz: Y'know, the Romulan Commander does sound a lot like Sarek.  I actually found a transcript online and reread the Romulan Commander's lines so that I could try to get him to sound right.  And it seems the character sounded not unlike Sarek.  Go figure.  Getting the Enterprise away from the Romulans, we've solved.  Away from the pirates may be more difficult.

Fool of an Elf: Glad you liked the Romulan Commander, and the picture of Kirk!

Hanakin222: Will they begin to trust Kirk?  Well, that remains to be seen…

Beedrill: 28, oh dear, you're getting me started on Nemesis.  I was subscribed to Star Trek: The Magazine (since out of print; tear) during the making/release of Nemesis, and thus read a lot of interviews with writer/director/etc.  They considered making it Picard's son, not clone, but decided it wasn't right for the character to have never mentioned a wife and child, even if they were presumed dead.  I disagree, and think a son would have made for themes much easier to relate to.  They also discussed bringing Spock in, but decided there was no place for him in the story.  [tears hair] He's _Spock_!  _He's_ on Romulus!  _They're_ on Romulus!  No better reasons are needed!  Sigh…but onward.  I respect your opinion of Phlox though I don't share it, and I agree: T'Pol is too moody.  I don't understand her.  "I love how you are able to capture each specific character's special voice (in the literary sense), concerns, and feelings."  You do realize you just completely made my day, right?  A kangaroo court is slang for a court where you're not going to get justice, where the judge has decided you're guilty before the trial even starts.  29, you're right, scary music is hard to type.  I usually just put [ominous music] in the stage directions.  The "bruises are nonfatal" line was definitely written with Jones in mind…or at least one of the many panicky red-shirts drifting around this website.  I'm glad someone was concerned about Finnegan.  : )  A Pirates medley?!  Really?  EEEE, too cool!  And I know just what you mean about no one to tell these things to…that was me with Star Trek for a long time.

Unrealistic: Ah, so that's what you meant.  As always…we'll see.  Glad you liked!

Scifimimi: I dunno, I don't use the notification thing myself…mayhaps I should too.  Anyway, destiny, now…destiny is a funny thing.

'Tis all.  More soon.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

Disclaimer: If I had money, I would own Star Trek. Likewise if I had money, there would be some kind of point in suing me for using Star Trek without ownership. Except that if I had money that was worth suing over, I would own Star Trek, and there would be nothing to sue about. But at present I don't have money or Star Trek, so there's still no point in suing.

And we're closing in on the end, folks. A few more chapters to go. Repent now, or forever hold your peace. Yeah. Don't ask me to quote things, I took the SAT II's this morning. On to the chapter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Mr. Scott puttered through his engine room, checking that everything was settled for the quiet of the night shift. He knew his staff was privately amused by their chief engineer's habit of putting his ship to sleep every night, but he didn't mind.

He checked a set of read-outs to make sure everything was as it should be. He flipped a few switches on a board and dimmed a bank of lights. Then he rounded the corner of a counter and nearly fell over Jim Kirk.

Kirk looked up from his position sitting on the floor in the corner of the counter and the wall. "Hello."

Scott took a breath to regain some kind of control over his nerves. "If ye don't mind me asking, what the devil are ye doin' hidin' in me engine room?"

Kirk shrugged. "I don't know. But don't throw me out, okay? Not today."

Something in his tone made Scott look at him thoughtfully. "What do ye want here, Mr. Kirk?"

"I want…I want you to explain it to me," Kirk said slowly.

Scott frowned. "Explain what?"

"Spock's mad at me for stunning him, he'd never admit it but he is, and Bones just says he's a doctor and won't talk, and the Sharks don't know anything, they just keep thinking about the money, so you're the only one I can ask," Kirk said on one breath of air. He met Scott's gaze, and asked. "Why didn't I sell the _Enterprise_?"

Scott's face cleared as understanding dawned. "Oh. That. That's not so hard to explain."

Kirk blinked. "That's not so hard? I'm going crazy over here and _that's not so hard_?"

Scott shrugged. "It's not," he said, and sat down next to Kirk.

Kirk had come looking for answers, but he was rather taken aback by this casual opinion of the question. "Well I'm glad _someone_ understands all this," he said, faintly incredulous.

Scott glanced at him. "Don't _you_ understand it? You're the one who did it."

Kirk looked at his hands where they rested against his knees. "Sure, I did it. And I know it was right. And I know I'd do it again. But I know that the same way I know I want to travel the stars. That doesn't mean I know _why_."

"That's alright. I know why." Scott smiled, a remarkably inclusive smile. "My lass charmed ye."

"You mean…the _Enterprise_?"

"'course, the _Enterprise_. She's special, this one. A beautiful lady. Not everyone can feel it. But if you can…an' if she responds…ah, now this is a ship that'll come through for ye every time," Scott said fondly.

"Didn't help Lowell," Kirk observed.

"Lowell doesn't feel it," Scott said sharply. "An' he never gives 'er a chance to prove it. But I know a little about her earlier missions, under Pike and April. _They_ felt it. And she came through for them."

Kirk nodded, thoughtful. "I remember some of those stories…"

Scott nodded firmly. "They're good stories. Because she's a good ship. People say that ships don't feel, that they don't have souls. I don't believe it."

Kirk smiled. "I think I know what you mean."

Kirk and Scott left Engineering around midnight, just as Gamma Shift took over from Beta Shift. For an hour after that all was quiet save for the usual low hum of the business of the night shift. But, if one had been in the right corridor on the right deck around one a.m., one would have heard noise.

"Spock! Spock, wake up!" McCoy hammered on the door to Spock's quarters. "Spo—"

He broke off as the doors slid open to reveal Spock on the opposite side. Though the Vulcan had almost certainly been awoken out of a sound sleep, he didn't have a single hair out of place. He was wearing a black robe, but somehow made it appear just as neat and formal as his customary science blues and blacks.

Spock looked at McCoy with faint irritation. "Doctor, it is 1:07 in the morning. I am not interested in your rants."

"I'm not ranting about anything, Spock, I'm solving the problems of the universe!" McCoy brushed past Spock and claimed the nearest seat with the air of one who wouldn't be leaving for some while. He took the opportunity to glance around a little—he'd never been in Spock's quarters before. They looked about as he would have expected. They were painfully neat. Except for the stack of PADDs and the funny looking harp, you'd never know a soul lived there.

Spock stared at him for a moment, then took exactly one step away from the door to allow it to slide shut behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded McCoy. "What do you want, Doctor?"

"April, twenty-two forty-five," McCoy said triumphantly.

"One of Kirk's codes."

"Exactly!"

"Do you have any purpose in bringing this up at 1:08 in the morning?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "_Of course_ I have a purpose! Do you think I really want to be out of my bed right now?"

"I have no idea what you want. I only have the fact of your arriving at my door at—"

"Robert April," McCoy interrupted. "It's been bugging me all day, and I just remembered. _Robert April took command of the Enterprise in 2245_."

"So he did," Spock murmured thoughtfully. "There could very possibly be a connection."

McCoy's eyebrows shot up. "_Possibly_ be a _connection_?" he said indignantly. "That's the whole thing, the complete deal, all wrapped up on a silver tray."

Spock's eyebrow rose. "A silver—"

McCoy brushed that aside. "Forget it. The point is, that's the key to the whole business. Robert April, 2245. The source of Ji—_Kirk's_ code."

"While it is a definite possibility we cannot claim it as a certainty. We do not know that Mr. Kirk is aware of Robert April, nor, if he is, do we know why he would use him as a code."

McCoy shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "He knows about him. He, well…anyway, he knows about him. And he probably would use him for a code."

Spock looked at him sharply. "And how do you know this?"

"He told me," McCoy snapped, defiance masking the odd feeling of a trust betrayed. "Robert April was his hero when he was a teenager."

"In that case," Spock said, "we may have something."

"_Something_? It's the key to everything, including that rotten pattern you keep going on about." Smugness was taking the place of discomfort. For the moment at least. "It's the answer to everything, and _I_ figured it out. _Before_ you did!"

"I fail to see the relevance of that fact," Spock said blandly.

"No, you don't, you're not stealing my thunder by pretending it doesn't matter. _I_ solved _your_ pattern, and you can't deny it."

"For a brief moment," Spock said mildly, "while you were discussing Robert April, I thought you were going to make sense and provide useful information. Clearly I was mistaken."

McCoy was affronted. "You want useful? I'll give you useful. The pattern. A person, and their year of historical significance."

"That is a rather broad pattern."

"Fine. I'll narrow it for you. Remember Erickson, one-thousand…something?"

"Erickson1002," Spock said smoothly.

"Right, that one. April got me thinking about explorers, and I remembered something. Leif Erickson was a Viking explorer, and while it's been a long time since my last history class I think the Vikings were somewhere around the 1000s." McCoy gave Spock a triumphant look. "His codes are explorers' names. Specific enough for you?"

Spock considered. "Very possible. A starship captain, and a Viking explorer. Both explorers, of a sort. However, we cannot be fully certain until we—"

"It explains Lewis too," McCoy interrupted, remembering out loud. "There's been lots of Lewises, I bet, but there was an explorer one too. Lewis and Clark expedition, somewhere around the 1800s, I think."

"Also supporting the theory. _However_, we cannot be fully certain until we examine the other codes, and determine some rationale for Kirk's use of this potential pattern."

"I _am_ certain. Because I know why he would use explorers' names," McCoy said quietly.

Spock looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Perhaps you would like to enlighten me."

"He'd use explorers because…" McCoy sighed, and went on, fighting down any and all thoughts of trusts and betrayals. "Because he wanted to be a starship captain."

"He told you this also?"

McCoy scowled, at himself or at Spock it was hard to say. "Yes."

"Interesting."

"_Interesting_? It's practically the key to the man's soul, and all you say is _interesting_?"

"Doctor, you are being unnecessarily emotional once again. I hardly think a biographical fact could be considered the key to anyone's soul, particularly a fact which could be easily deduced with the knowledge of his past attendance of Starfleet Academy and his natural leadership abilities."

McCoy glared at him. "Oh what do _you_ know about it?"

"I know that it has allowed us to establish a pattern." Spock rose, went to his desktop computer monitor and began tapping keys.

McCoy stood up but stayed in the vicinity of his chair. Curiosity got the better of any intention of maintaining a stony silence, and he set aside, for the moment, his irritation "What are you doing?"

"Moving to the next step in determining Mr. Kirk's codes, using a narrowed search in the computer's library database. I have been hesitant to use the computer for a wider search as it could easily be noticed by Kirk or, perhaps more likely, the pirate Reeves. However, with a narrowed search focused on human explorers and their relevant year, routed through the backup databanks of the computer, possibility of detection is greatly reduced.

"So, what, you're going to hunt up a list of explorers and years?" McCoy was doubtful. "There's got to be hundreds."

"Likely thousands. However, once I have a base of data to work from, I can enable a second program to determine which, if any, of the proposed phrases have been used as codes in the last week. It will not tell me what they have been used for, but it will give us a list of codes to work with."

McCoy stared at him. "You can _do_ that? Why didn't you do that a _week_ ago?"

Spock looked up from his screen, continuing to tap commands as he spoke. "Because I had no base of information. A name and a four-digit number is insufficient as the volume of data is far too large, somewhere in the approximate vicinity of 8,999,000,000,000 possibilities. A search with such a base would require 18.314 days and 2.4% of the _Enterprise_'s memory—"

"All right, fine, I've got it," McCoy interrupted. "You don't have to quote a million figures at me."

"To quote a million figures," Spock said mildly, "would take approximately—"

McCoy held up his hands in a halting gesture. "Stop. No more. Just do your little typing thing."

Spock stood up from his desk. "I have already completed my 'little typing thing,' as you put it. As the commands for the program have been inputted, the computer will proceed through its task. It will take several hours for results, as I have sent it through several backup programs rather than the primary memory, for security reasons. Within 6.72 hours, I believe we will have a very clear picture of Mr. Kirk's codes."

"And then we retake the ship and put Ji—Kirk in the brig?"

"Yes."

"Okay," McCoy said quietly.

Spock looked at him shrewdly. "We have no choice, Doctor. Though Mr. Kirk did not sell the ship to the Romulans, and that concern in general no longer seems urgent, we still have no choice. As Starfleet officers, we must regain control of our ship. Our duty is very clear on that point."

"I know," McCoy said. "I know."

-------

Just in general: I'm getting a sense that the Romulans left too easily. The reason for which is just what Kirk said: the Romulan Commander really doesn't want to fight. That's something that's in the episode too—this is a guy bound by duty but clearly tired of war. However, it probably would be better if I put some kind of fight in there. I'm not going to change it now, but I'm seeing a revision on the horizon after I finish the whole thing, so I'll take that into account then. Thanks for constructive criticism (and I mean that with no sarcasm at all)!

Alania: I loved the wine, scene, if you couldn't guess that, lol. And seatbelts on the _Enterprise_—a truly brilliant idea.

Crazy Elleth: That is a very random quote. Also very proud. But random.

Unrealistic: I wouldn't say that Kirk got away from the pirates. I mean, yeah, he walked away, but they aren't exactly happy with him right now…

PearlGirl: Your band played Pirate music?! _Too cool_! I love the soundtrack… One question about your review: what do you mean by "curtling?" I have a funny feeling that's a mistyping, but I can't figure out what word you did mean…I'm confuzzed.

Samantha: [grins] I did hope you'd enjoy the Romulan Commander! If you brought that line up a couple times, it probably never would have occurred to me to have _that_ particular Romulan Commander be Kirk's contact. So thanks! Am I really getting across that range of emotions? Awesome. And nail biting? Now you're just trying to swell my non-existent ego…

Emp: Oh, they're mad alright. And yeah, he's Kirk. But they're mad anyway.

Mzsnaz: Yep, the pirates will be hard to placate. And as to what Kirk will do…next chapter!

More soon!


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

Disclaimer: Talk to Berman and Braga.  Though I'd like to think I'm more fun to talk to…_as_ fun, at least?

Yes, today is Saturday.  Time for a new chapter!  This one's a bit different from our last few…and a bit different from the ones coming up!  Read on.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

When one is aboard a starship in deep space, days of the week tend to take on little meaning.  Ship's time, though having no connection to any planetary time, is kept scrupulously.  The date was kept according to the date on Earth.  The Stardate was designed to transcend planets and systems.  But the day of the week tended to slip away.  However, if there was any day that served as Sunday aboard the _Enterprise_, it was today.  A larger than average percentage of the crew had their official day off, lending an atmosphere of holiday to the ship.  Perhaps it was odd to have less than a full crew on duty under present circumstances, but Spock judged it illogical to deprive the crew of potentially needed rest.  Besides, there probably would have been widespread rebellion if he had tried.

Kirk caught on to the tone of the day when he arrived at the bridge at seven and Spock wasn't there yet.  On the news that an entirely different than usual bridge crew would be arriving for the Alpha Shift, Kirk opted to abandon the bridge for a while and wander the ship a bit instead.  He didn't actually end up wandering much though.  It wasn't long before he wandered into the arboretum and stayed.  He'd been lured there by simple curiosity, and stayed there for two reasons: for the trees, which reminded him of Earth, and for the large picture window looking out on the stars.  So for almost an hour Jim Kirk sat among the trees, looked at the stars, and thought.

There was much to think about.  He was in a devil of a situation.  He couldn't—or wouldn't—sell the _Enterprise_.  He couldn't decide which verb better applied—couldn't or wouldn't—and finally concluded it didn't really matter.  The crux of the situation was, nothing would satisfy the Sharks save the sale of the _Enterprise_, and that was the one thing Kirk wasn't going to do.  And there, in a nutshell, was the problem.

So he was going to follow his tried-and-true method of handling untenable situations.  Change the rules, change the goals, change _anything_, just pull out a victory one more time.  The goal, right along, from the first time he had seen the _Enterprise_ in the Palladium system seven days ago, had been to use the ship to make a fortune.  It couldn't be done.  Starfleet didn't pay ransoms, and he wasn't selling to anyone else.  So it couldn't be done.  So he wouldn't try.  Change the goal, forget the money.  Like he told the Sharks—other things were more important.  He considered the situation anew from that angle.  An obvious question arose.  If he wasn't going to sell her, what _was_ he going to do with the _Enterprise_?  Well…he _could_ keep her.  For a heady moment Kirk seriously considered the possibility.  Considered the possibility of staying on the _Enterprise_, of being, essentially, her captain, not just for a few days or a week but for good, for a year, for five years.  For that moment he considered the idea, then had to regretfully discard it as impossible.  Spock was willing to play chess with him and McCoy was willing to pass time in Sickbay in conversation, but they and the rest of the crew would undoubtedly balk at the pirate usurper trying to become permanent captain.  Even if no one liked Lowell very much, he had the rightful rank and position.  And anyway, even if the crew _would_ go for it, Starfleet wouldn't.  Command had been rather oblivious for the last week, but they wouldn't be forever.  They only had twelve starships.  They weren't going to let a pirate keep one of them, and they had the power to wrest her back.  So he couldn't keep her.  So the only possible goal he had any hope of achieving was simply to get himself and the _Enterprise_ out of this in one piece.  And to do that there was only one possible course.  He was going to do exactly what he'd been accused of before: he was going to cut a deal with Starfleet.

The deal as he envisioned it was simple enough.  An agreement to hand Spock the codes to control the ship in exchange for a blind eye when Kirk stole the Sharks' vessel and ran.  Spock could do whatever he liked with the Sharks.  Kirk was doubtful he could win their trust back, and was fast concluding that he didn't really care anymore.  He could put enough of the Sharks' ship on automatic to get him into orbit around any planet he chose, and once he got there he could sell the ship for a fair stack of credits.  It wasn't the _Enterprise_, but he also didn't have to split it 26 ways.  Two at most, if he decided to drag Harry along.  Either way, it would be enough money to hold him in good stead until he figured out what he was going to do now, now that he was cutting loose from the gang.

It was a pretty good plan.  He had every intention of carrying it out.  As he left the arboretum around eight, he was feeling more in control of the situation than he had since the Romulans mentioned dismantling.  But he didn't exactly rush to execute the plan.  He told himself that he could certainly afford a few hours and it only made sense to wait for a convenient moment.  The fact that once the plan was carried out it would mean saying good-bye to the _Enterprise_ and her crew, in all likelihood forever, may have had something to do with it also.  So when he left the arboretum it wasn't to go to the bridge and hunt up Spock.  It was to go to the Mess Hall and hunt up breakfast.

The Mess Hall hummed with its usual activity, a hum that let Kirk in with hardly a pause or a change in tone.  It seemed a particularly light-hearted buzz this morning, an effect brought on partially by the nature of the day and partially by their heading pointed away from the Romulan neutral zone.  There was only one discordant note in the pleasant hum, and that was the cloud of hostility hanging over one long table—the Sharks' table.  Kirk knew there was no point in going over there, and he didn't want to anyway.

His eyes roved the Mess Hall for somewhere else to sit.  He couldn't exactly go sit down next to just any member of the _Enterprise_'s crew.   Though they were certainly a less hostile group than they'd been a week ago, they still weren't exactly openly friendly.  With a few exceptions.

Kirk got some toast and coffee from the nearest replicator and walked over to where McCoy was eating breakfast.  "Morning, Bones," he greeted him.

McCoy looked up from his scrambled eggs, and as he looked at Kirk an odd expression appeared and vanished again from his face.  It was almost…guilt.  Kirk didn't understand it, and it had been so brief that he decided to dismiss it.

"Morning.  And it's McCoy."

"Right," Kirk agreed.  "Mind if I join you?"

"Fine with me."

Kirk set down his plate and snagged a seat on McCoy's right.  "Thanks.  Can't sit over _there_," he said with a nod towards the Sharks.  "They're furious that I didn't sell the ship."

McCoy shifted.  "Yeah, about that…I did say that was good, right?"

Kirk nodded.  "Yes."

"Okay, good, 'cause that was…"  He shrugged.  "Good."

Kirk looked at him questioningly.  "So, uh…do you have a point with this?"

"No.  Not really.  Just I've been thinking.  See, not only was it good, it was confusing.  Very confusing.  You completely threw me off, which left me with not much to say besides that I'm a doctor not a—"

"—pirate leader," Kirk put in smoothly.

"Right.  So I've been thinking, and I wasn't sure I quite got it across that that was also…"

"Good?" Kirk suggested.

McCoy nodded.  "Yes."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"On that note, how are the eggs?"

"Fine, but they need more salt."  McCoy blinked.  "What does that have to do with _anything_?"

Kirk grinned.  "Nothing much, but the conversation was getting positively serious."

McCoy was skeptical.  "You're down on serious conversations, but you spend time with Spock?"

"Not the same thing.  A conversation with Spock is one thing, a conversation with you is something else.  You're, ah, rather different."

"No kidding.  I can think of few people I'm _less_ like than—"

"Speak of the devil," Kirk interrupted, referencing the old adage of speak of the devil and he'll appear.  Spock was walking through the Mess Hall, tray in hand.

McCoy shrugged.  "Well, with ears like that…"

Kirk elbowed him, then called, "Hey, Spock, over here!"  A pause.  "Bones, don't kick me."

McCoy scowled, and applied himself to his eggs and ham.

Spock, meanwhile, looked in Kirk's direction, blinked once, then, probably because he didn't know what else to do, walked in that direction.

"Join us," Kirk invited, indicating the chair across from him.

Spock hesitated.  "I had planned to read an interesting new treatise on the relative speeds of electrons in—"

"I take it upon myself to save you from that.  Sit."

Spock appeared dubious, but he sat.  "I do not think I need 'saving,' as you put it."

"All right, maybe _you_ don't need to sit there, but _I_ need you to sit there."

Spock's eyebrow rose in silent query.

Kirk grinned.  "You're sitting across from me.  If a Shark comes up behind me, phaser drawn, I expect you to warn me.  All bets are off if it's Gray, of course, in which case warning me would be a violation of loyalty to Starfleet, and I wouldn't ask you."

"I see," Spock acknowledged.

"Strange," McCoy mused.  "A pirate asking Starfleet to defend him from other pirates."

"Hold it, I can defend myself," Kirk objected.  "I just want a warning if a pirate's about to shoot me in the back."

"There is a distinction," Spock agreed.

"I _know_ there's a distinction," McCoy said irritably.

"Then perhaps you should have made that distinction clear when you initially originated this line of conversation."

McCoy scowled.  "Now listen, I—"

"Can the two of you," Kirk interrupted, "exchange _two sentences_ without irritating each other?"

"Irritation is a human emotion with which I am totally unfamiliar."

"Gonna sell me the Brooklyn Bridge too?" Kirk asked.

Spock blinked.  "Pardon?"

Kirk dismissed it.  "Nothing.  But anyway, I bet you _could_ get along with each other, if you tried hard enough."

"Unlikely," McCoy said dryly.

"Come on, try," Kirk urged.  "Two sentences."

"I don't think—" McCoy began.

"Two."

"I hardly—" Spock started.

"Just two."

Spock and McCoy gave up on objections, and silence descended.

"Any time now," Kirk prompted.

McCoy frowned, and finally said, "How's your breakfast?"

"Palatable," Spock said stiffly.

"There, see?  Two sentences," Kirk said triumphantly.

"Short sentences," McCoy pointed out.  "Though there's not much to be said about _his_ breakfast."

Spock's food was something less than a conversation piece—various cut fruits and water.

"I fail to see a problem with my food," Spock said mildly.

"It's just kind of boring, don't you think?"

"No."

"Looks boring to me.  Don't you ever want food that's a little more…interesting?"

"Food is not required to be 'interesting.'  Merely sustaining."

"But interesting is nice, and _that's_ not interesting."

"But it is healthy.  I prefer simple, nutritious food.  Nor do I eat the flesh of beasts."

McCoy stopped with a forkful of ham halfway to his mouth.  "And what's _that_ supposed to suggest?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "That I do not eat the flesh of beast.  Likewise I avoid food with grease and excess fat."

McCoy glared at Spock over his plate of admittedly greasy eggs and ham.  "Thank you, I _don't_ need you to tell me about healthy eating.  I can handle my own health!"

The Eyebrow rose.  "One would not think so after observing your eating habits."

"Keep your big Vulcan nose out of _my_ eating habits!"

"I fail to see what my _nose_ has to do with—"

"_Enough_," Kirk broke in.

The two men lapsed into silence, a sulky silence on McCoy's side of the table, an impassive silence on Spock's side.

"That's absolutely amazing."  Kirk looked between them, both amusement and disbelief written across his face.  "You really _can't_ carry on a reasonable conversation without irritating each other."

"Can't say we didn't warn you," McCoy pointed out.

"No, you warned me, you both warned me.  I just can't figure it though.  I mean, I get it, _you're_ emotional, _you're_ logical, the two aren't mixing very well.  But how you can start an argument over something as non-controversial as _breakfast_…"

"I should think it would be obvious.  He aggravates me," McCoy said bluntly.

"You are hardly the epitome of humanity yourself, Doctor," Spock said blandly.

"Now see here—"

"_Maybe_," Kirk said, deliberately interrupting McCoy, "you enjoy the arguments.  Have you considered that?"

"Maybe we just dislike each other."

"Dislike is a human emotion with which—"

"—you are totally unfamiliar, we _know_, Spock," Kirk and McCoy chorused in unison.

"I don't believe that, by the way, but we can argue that some other time.  As I was saying," Kirk went on, "_have_ you considered that you might enjoy the arguing?"

Spock and McCoy considered it.

"I guess they liven things up a little," McCoy acknowledged doubtfully.  "It's pretty dull around here."

"Dull.  Aboard a starship."  Kirk positively winced.

"Aboard _this_ starship, it _is_ dull," McCoy said firmly.  "When we're not hijacked by pirates.  You _do_ make things interesting, I'll grant you that."

Kirk grinned.  "Glad to know I'm accomplishing something.  Now, getting back to the original point—"

"Why go back to it?" McCoy asked.  "Let's talk about it being dull.  I mean, what's so interesting about talking about us?"

Kirk shrugged.  "Because no one's given me a good answer yet."

"What's the question?" McCoy asked.

"Why do you two dislike each other so much?  So you're different.  So what?  I thought the Federation was all about overcoming differences.  Different doesn't necessarily mean hostile.  And besides, you do have _some_ things in common."

They both looked at him doubtfully.

"Well you have more in common with each other than you do with _me_!" Kirk pointed out.

"Maybe," McCoy acknowledged.  "But it's kind of irrelevant anyway.  The fact is, we _don't_ get along."

"And on that brick wall statement, I'm going to hunt up another cup of coffee."  Kirk stood up, grabbed his coffee mug, and headed for the replicators.

Spock calculated to the inch how far Kirk had to walk to be out of earshot in the crowded Mess Hall.  When Kirk had reached the precise point, Spock turned to McCoy and said, "I have obtained the codes."

McCoy jumped.  "Kirk's codes?"

"Of course."

"So…we could retake the ship."

"If we could neutralize Mr. Kirk, yes."

McCoy shifted.  "About that…um…"

Spock looked at him sharply.  "We have established that this is the only option."

"I know, I know, but…I'm just not exactly comfortable with the whole idea of eating breakfast with a man at eight, and then clapping him in the brig at ten!" McCoy hissed.

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you ate breakfast with him."

McCoy glared at him.  "What about _you_?  You're not at _all_ uncomfortable with this?"

"Discomfort is a human—"

"Oh shut up, Spock!"

Kirk came back in time to catch that last line, too late for anything before.  He sat down, shaking his head.  "That does it, I wash my hands of it.  I go for a cup of coffee and by the time I get back you're at each other again.  I give up on preventing it."  He took a sip of his coffee.  "Maybe I had it right to begin with.  Maybe you _do_ enjoy it."

"Doubtful," Spock said calmly.

"Now wait, don't just dismiss it," Kirk told Spock with a grin.  "In fact, I bet he makes you a better Vulcan."

The Eyebrow shot up.

McCoy blinked over his eggs.  "I do _what_?"

"No, I'm serious," Kirk protested.  "Bones, you—"

"McCoy."

"Yes.  You badger him about his logic.  That forces you, Spock, to organize your thoughts and present them clearly and convincingly.  And since you're forced to do that, you become a better Vulcan.  Which is good."

"It is?" McCoy said doubtfully.

"Sure it is.  And as for you, Bones, I suspect you just like to argue.  You enjoy the debate."

"If I enjoy it so much, why hasn't anyone told _me_?" McCoy asked.

Kirk laughed.  "Look, right or wrong, I bet you haven't looked at it this way before."

"No," Spock said pointedly.

"Y'know what, let's hunt up a new topic.  Anyone else feel like we've talked this one to death?" McCoy asked.

No one will ever know if anyone else felt that, as just about then the red alert siren went off.

For a heartbeat everyone in the crowded Mess Hall froze.  No movements, no voices, no sound save the howling sirens of the red alert.  Then on to the next beat, and everyone was in motion.

"Damn," Kirk said, shoving his chair back and rising.  Then he was off and running for the bridge, Spock only a step behind.  McCoy hesitated a breath, and then, either because he was curious about what was happening on the bridge, because he didn't think he'd be needed too badly in Sickbay, or just because he was following his gut, he beat a path after Kirk and Spock.

They made it to the bridge in 93 seconds exactly, by Spock's count, beating the rest of the regular bridge crew by almost seven seconds.

Kirk came to a halt with one hand on the back of the command chair and looked at the viewscreen.  Then he said something in Rigelian, and not a very polite something either.

Three great hulking ships loomed on the screen, blotting out great swathes of stars behind them.

"Are they pirates?" Uhura asked, as she took her place.

"Oh, they're pirates, all right," Kirk said grimly.  "And they're not just any pirates.  That's the Orion Syndicate.  They're the best, and the worst, in the business.  They're the best at what they do, and what they do is the worst kind of business.

"They're slavers.  And they're damn good at it."

-----

Next chapter soon, and in the meantime, replies:

Mzsnaz: Ah yes, the good Doctor, and Spock to a certain degree, are definitely reluctant to see Kirk thrown in the brig.  Though Spock wouldn't admit it for the galaxy.  Glad you liked the Scotty scene—it seemed like a good spot for him, especially since he hasn't been used very much.

Kyer: The "dear lunkhead." LOL!  A drinking bout…ooh, I like that!  It's too late in the game now, but I'll keep it in mind for revisions.

Beedrill: 30: Y'know, I don't know whether this was the Romulan who made first visual contact in this universe or not either.  But either way, he's definitely the same one from the regular universe.  I had to have the explanation regarding how McCoy knew what Spock's father looked like because I was wondering that too!  31: Oh it was illogical, and he is in trouble.  Was that Elaan of Troyus, where they said his girl was the _Enterprise_?  Oh good, you liked the last bit of chapter 31!  I love that line too!  32: Hmm, good Riker quote.  Scott was referred to as Scotty in chapter two, by McCoy, where I established that they're good friends in this universe…never ended up doing too much with that though.  McCoy is definitely there to gloat.  I always thought Meriwether was a strange name.  Between Lewis and Clark they've got three first names (Lewis, Clark, and whatever's Clark's first name is, I forget) and one last name (Meriwether), and they've got the order hopelessly confused.  And I know _exactly_ what you mean about finishing a good book.  And I'm flattered you're applying it to my story!

Samantha: Yeah, poor Kirk is very bewildered in this universe…because in this universe it's not wise for him to fall for the _Enterprise_, whereas in the regular universe it was perfectly natural.  Closeness between Kirk and Spock, a few hesitations…yeah, they're coming.  Good observation on Spock's many vehement lectures.

Alania: Yep, Scotty's back.  He's less present than the big three of Kirk, Spock and McCoy, true.  Lots of Pirate music, very cool, and you play the violin, very cool!

Crazy Elleth: Isn't McCoy _usually_ close to strangling Spock…?  : )

AliciaF: Definitely McCoy likes Kirk just a little.  Assuming you mean that in a strictly platonic sense, as I trust you do.


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

Disclaimer: It's not mine.  You know that.

Closing in on the end, folks!  But I've said that before, so I'll just let you get to this unusually long chapter without further ado.  Does anyone know what "ado" means anyway?  Yeah…

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The situation was grim, and Kirk knew it.  Knew it as he studied the Orion ships, knew it as he sat down in the command chair and went on studying, focus narrowing down to nothing but the problem to be solved.

The rest of the bridge crew completely failed to match Kirk's intensity of thought.  But then, they didn't know as much about the Orions.

"Why do you think they're here?" Uhura asked.

Kirk's eyes never left the viewscreen.  "I know why they're here.  It's Charlie again, damn him.  He sent out the word before, and the Syndicate has picked it up.  They want the ship."

"They cannot have her," Chekov said definitively.

Motionless as stone, chin in his hand, eyes on the screen, thoughts running at warp speed, the only response from Kirk was a murmur, more or less in affirmative.

"I mean, ve can fight them," Chekov pressed on.

"They're _very_ good," Kirk said.

"But ve have a starship."

"But they have heavy shields and heavy weaponry.  And they outnumber us three to one."

"But ve _can_ take them in a fight."  Chekov wouldn't let it be a question.

Kirk answered it as a question regardless.  "No," he said slowly, "I don't think we can."

Every head on the bridge turned and everyone stared at Kirk, disbelief written plainly across every face but Spock's.  Still sunk deep in thought, Kirk never noticed.

"So…what are we going to do?" Uhura asked him.

"I don't know," Kirk said simply, turning the situation over in his mind once more.

It was then that the Starfleet crew really began to worry.  A tense silence fell over the bridge.  When Uhura's board sounded, everyone but Kirk and Spock jumped.

Uhura checked her readings.  "The Orions are hailing us."

Kirk nodded slowly.  "They want to negotiate for buying the _Enterprise_."

Sulu frowned.  "But if they can take us in a fight…"

"They don't want to damage the ship."

"But ve vill not sell to them, right?" Chekov said.

Lost in thought, Kirk didn't answer.

"_Right_?" Chekov pressed, a note of urgency entering his voice.

Kirk finally looked up.  "Hmm?  Oh…right," he said vaguely, mind still on the problem.

Chekov turned slowly back to his board, frowning as though _it_ was what was bothering him.

"Shall I respond to the hail?" Uhura asked.

Kirk straightened suddenly.  "Yes," he said firmly.  "Put them on."

Kirk's thoughts had arrived at a conclusion.  He had a plan.  A complicated, risky, possibly foolhardy plan, but nevertheless a plan.  He made no move to tell this plan to anyone.  He'd been relying solely on himself for too long, and now, by habit as much as by temperament, he didn't stop to explain anything at all to the Starfleet crew.

Kirk squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and, in all respects, settled into the role of confident leader.  And then the Orion commander appeared on screen.

The Orion commander, unlike the Romulan commander, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Vulcans.  For one thing, the Vulcans had a slight green tint to their skin.  The Orions, however, were as green as the little green men of twentieth-century UFO propaganda.  This particular Orion could hardly be described as little though.  Large in every direction and particularly around the middle, he gave no impression so strongly as that he was overflowing his chair.

"Mr. Kirk!" he rumbled enthusiastically in strongly accented Standard.  "It is _good_ to see you!"

Kirk smiled politely.  "Do I know you?"

"We have never met, so very unfortunate.  Your reputation though, I know well."

"Ah," Kirk said.  "And is this a good reputation, or a bad one?"

The Orion's small, dark eyes glinted, a dangerous glint at odds with his jovial attitude.  "On Rigel, they say you are the best pirate leader out of Earth since Blackbeard."

Kirk grinned.  "That's not bad."

"They say also you are smart.  So maybe, you already know why we are here."

Kirk nodded.  "I already know why you're here," he said pleasantly, "but why don't you tell me anyway and then we'll all know?"

The Orion complied.  "We want the ship," he said simply.

"Somehow I thought you might."

"We'll give you fifty million for it."

It wasn't what the Romulans had offered.  But it wasn't bad.  Split among the 25-odd Sharks, that was around two million each.  Which would be enough to satisfy even Harry.  Everyone on the bridge could figure that out.

"Interesting offer," Kirk said carefully.  "If I did sell the ship to you, what would you do with her?"

The Orion seemed faintly surprised.  "We would make her part of our fleet, of course.  The things we could steal with a starship!  She is a very powerful ship, oh yes."

"Yes.  She is," Kirk agreed.

"What is he _doing_?" McCoy muttered to Spock.

"I do not know," was the blandly given answer.

These were sentiments shared by all the bridge crew, who watched the continuing conversation with puzzlement and growing consternation.

"So then?" the Orion asked. "A bargain, yes?"

"Not yet, no," Kirk said easily.  "I have another question first."

"What question?" the Orion rumbled, clear irritation creeping into his voice for the first time.

"What happens to the crew of the _Enterprise_?"

"I give you an extra million for all," the Orion said generously, reclaiming his good cheer.

"Nice of you, but no thanks.  I've got another idea.  There's a Class-M planet within two hours at warp six.  We could drop them there with a long-range comm unit."

The Orion agreed almost too readily.  "You think it is better, we do it.  _Now, a_ _bargain_?"

To the bridge crew, that moment between the Orion's question and Kirk's answer seemed very long.  In actual fact, Kirk never even hesitated.

"Yes," Kirk said.  "We do."

The Orion's grin stretched almost literally from ear to ear, revealing a row of broken yellow teeth.  "Excellent.  She is a beautiful ship."

Kirk smiled.  "I know."

"How do we handle the transfer, you think?"

"I've thought of that," Kirk said at once.  "My ship is docked here.  My gang will board our ship, dock with you, pick up our payment, and…"  He shrugged.  "The ship is yours."

The Orion commander's eyes glinted.  "Agreed."

"Good.  We'll be along as soon as I can settle things here.  _Enterprise_ out."

Uhura flipped a switch on her board with a vicious swipe, and the Orion vanished from the screen.

Kirk rubbed his hands together.  "All right, lots to do, little time, I need to…"  He stopped.  Looked around.  With the single exception of Spock, every face had an identical expression of hostility.  Spock had no expression.  "What?"

"You just sold our ship," Chekov said tightly, the tightness in his voice speaking of both anger and betrayal.

"No, I didn't," Kirk said at once.

"What part of 'the ship is yours' isn't _very_ clear?" Sulu snapped.

Kirk stared at him.  "You don't think I _meant_ that, do you?"

The hostility didn't lift.  Apparently everyone thought precisely that.

"Wait a minute, let me explain," Kirk said hurriedly.  "See, we can't take them in a fight on our own.  I'm good, but even I'm not _that_ good, not against three Orion ships.  But the Sharks' ship, it could tip the balance.  With two ships working together, I think we could beat the Orions, or at least discourage them into leaving.  It's our best chance anyway.  I only said I'd sell the ship so I'd have a reason to bring the other ship out and near the Orions without arousing their suspicions.  You see?"

They didn't see.  And he could see that he wasn't convincing them.  Whatever relationships he had built between himself and Starfleet in the last week, they weren't going to be enough.  However much the bridge crew had seen of his best side, it wasn't going to do it.  He'd made a bad mistake by not explaining things beforehand.  Believing that he was selling the _Enterprise_ had had an effect Kirk hadn't anticipated and couldn't compensate for now.  The Starfleet crew had been jolted directly back to their earliest impressions of Kirk and their earliest suspicions, his earliest treachery and earliest threats.  With all that at the front of their minds, rather than yesterday's Romulans and this morning's breakfast, they were less willing to listen to explanations now.  And excuses after the fact always sound far more flimsy than explanations beforehand.

"That is somewhat far-fetched," Spock observed.

Kirk tried hard to recapture the comradeship of the last day or so.  "Oh come on, Spock," he said lightly, "you played _chess_ with me, give me a chance here."

"Chess is irrelevant," Spock said crisply.  "What is relevant is that I cannot accept your plan, as an acceptance of that plan would put this ship in grave danger if you are not telling us the truth."

"But I _am_ telling you the truth," Kirk said, no longer lightly.  He stood up from his chair to face the science console, and Spock.  What Spock decided, the rest of the bridge crew would follow, Kirk could see that.  "Spock, this ship and her crew are in a lot more danger if you _don't_ listen to me.  My plan's the only way; I know that, and I think you do too.  And it's only going to work if you believe me.  I can't be in two places at once, I can't do everything, and the Sharks won't help me.  I need someone to direct the _Enterprise_, and I need help on the other ship."

"You will not find help here," Spock said coldly, "because I do not believe you."

"Why not?" Kirk asked, frustrated.

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you?" Kirk countered.

And Spock had the answer.  With his brilliant, maddening, ever-ready Vulcan logic, Spock had the answer.  "You did not sell to the Romulans, which left you with a very valuable ship but no buyer.  The Orions fulfill that position, providing you with a much needed way to come out of this situation with a great deal of wealth."

"If it was about the money, I would have sold to the Romulans to begin with," Kirk pointed out.

"As I understand the situation, you did not sell to the Romulans because they were going to dismantle the ship.  The Orions will not."

"I didn't sell because I didn't _want_ to sell, and I don't want to sell now either."

"But now you are in a position where you _must_ sell the _Enterprise_.  It is commonly known that you have lost the confidence of your men.  You have yourself commented on the likelihood of their shooting you in the back.  A profitable bargain with the Orions would regain the confidence of the Sharks and secure your position.  In every way I can perceive," Spock concluded, "selling to the Orions is in your best interest.  Fighting the Orions is not."

"Selling to the Romulans was in my best interest too," Kirk pointed out, "and I didn't do that."

"But your specific reasons for not wishing to sell to the Romulans are no longer an issue.  I can see absolutely no reason for you to refuse to sell to the Orions."

"Except that he didn't mean any more of that conversation than _I_ did.  He's not going to any Class-M planets, and he'll shoot me on sight before he hands me fifty million credits.  If I actually went with what I told the Orions, I'd be dead and you'd all be in slavery.  Which is where we'll end up anyway if you don't _listen to me_."

"I do not know any of that to be true."

"Would I lie to you?" Kirk demanded.

Spock looked him straight in the eye.  "Yes."

Kirk frowned.  "All right, maybe I would.  But the point is, I'm _not_ lying, not about this."

"The point is, you must sell the _Enterprise_, as there is nothing else you can do with her.  Starfleet would never stand for your keeping her."

"Which is why I was going to give her back to you.  That's what my plan was, Spock, I was going to give you the codes in exchange for a blind eye when I ran."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Why would you want to do this?"

"Because she's not a pirate ship," Kirk said quietly.  "She's a starship, and I can't make her anything else.  No matter how much I might want to."

"I find it intriguing that you are mentioning this now, rather than at breakfast, which would have been the logical time to pursue the deal you are describing."

"I didn't know the Orions were coming, and I wasn't exactly in a hurry to leave."

"Or you invented this deal within the last two minutes."

"Damn it, Spock, I'm telling you the truth!  About everything!"  Kirk looked around the bridge.  "I mean it, I mean all of it.  But…all your arguments are perfectly logical, Spock, and it probably _is_ in my best interest to sell to the Orions, if they'd keep their end of the bargain.  But they won't keep their end, and I'm not keeping mine.  It's illogical, and it's probably stupid too, but I'd rather fight the Orion Syndicate then sell to them.  But I need your help."

No one responded.  No one volunteered.

"You worked with me fighting the other pirates!" Kirk said in frustration.  "Why is this _different_?"

Sulu answered that, and in answering summed up the core of the problem for everyone.  "Before…it was all very straightforward, very clear.  Our best interests and your best interest coincided.  And anything that happened to us, happened to you.  But with this plan…it's just too easy for you to stab us in the back.  And there's too much reason for you to do it."

"But I won't," Kirk said simply.

No one responded.  Kirk looked around the bridge once more, and drew a breath.  And then he changed in a way even Spock could feel.  Almost like slipping on a coat, Kirk slid back into the role of the cocky, self-assured, ruthless pirate leader he had been when he had first stepped into the docking bay, and their lives, a mere seven days before.

"All right, then, fine.  Have it your way," Kirk said calmly.  "You're not giving me a choice.  I can't give you one.  Computer, lock bridge controls, authorization Cortez1518."

The perfectly modulated tones of the computer's voice program sounded on the bridge.  "Access to bridge controls has been locked."

"This makes little material difference," Spock noted, "as we were not intending to use our respective controls.

Kirk locked gazes with Spock.  "Computer…Archer2150," he said evenly.

"Commencing self-destruct sequence in: ten minutes," the computer said calmly.

The bridge crew was silent and unmoving, uninvolved witnesses to the scene playing out between Kirk and Spock.

Spock gave every appearance of unconcern.  His hands were clasped behind him, his posture perfect.

"I'm not bluffing, Spock," Kirk said quietly.  "I'll blow her up and kill everyone aboard.  It's better than being captured by the Orions.  You don't have any choice.  It's checkmate."

"On the contrary."  Spock looked him in the eye.  "Cabot1497."

Kirk's eyes widened.

"Cochrane2063." Spock said deliberately.  "Diaz1487.  Gama1498.  Hudson1609.  Izar2241."

Kirk flinched.  "Belay—"

He was too late.  The computer spoke over his words.  "Bridge controls unlocked."

"Damn it, Spock, don't do this!"

Spock was relentless.  "James1631.  Joliet1673.  Lancaster1591.  Lindbergh1929.   Magellan1521."  Receiving no response, he paused for a moment.  Considered.  "Pike.  2254."

"No!"

"Self-destruct sequence terminated," the computer said crisply.

"I believe that is the last of your leverage, Mr. Kirk," Spock said calmly.  "Checkmate."

Kirk stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words.  The ruthless, cocky pirate leader was gone, gone for good.  Kirk, with an effort, pulled himself together.  "Do you know what you've done?"

"Removed your position of power and prevented the carrying out of your plan."

"The only plan that could have saved this ship!"

"Or doomed it," Spock countered.

Kirk had remained reasonably calm before.  Certainly he had been frustrated and a bit irritated.  But he had never panicked or given way to desperation.  But before, he had had an ace in his sleeve, in the form of his codes.  That was gone now.  "All right, you stopped me from selling the ship, which I wasn't going to do anyway.  So now the Orions will take her, and everyone aboard.  My plan is _still_ the only way!"

"I do not agree."

"But it _is_!  What are you going to do, _talk_ to them?"

"The fact that I am a Vulcan may help me to establish a dialogue."

Kirk stared at Spock, and in his hazel eyes there was a new emotion.  Fear.  "Spock, you _can't_ talk to the Orions, believe me on _that_ at least.  You've got to listen to me.  You can't talk to them, you can't fight them, you have to listen to me because it's the only way any of us will walk away from this alive and free."

"There are many possibilities," Spock said impassively.

In the face of that impassivity, Kirk began to despair.  And in despair, desperation took hold, entering his thoughts and his voice.  "No, there _aren't_!  I know what I'm talking about, I know how the Orions work!  You try to talk to them, and you're all going to end up dead or sold on the black market.  Please, Spock, give me a chance, I can see the only way out of this!"

Spock ignored him.  "Lieutenant Uhura, call security please."

"Yes, sir," she murmured, hands moving over her board.

Spock turned away from Kirk, walked past him and towards the center chair.  Kirk, in his mounting desperation, went so far as to grab Spock's shoulder.  "Please, Spock, if you'd just listen to me—"

"The matter is closed," Spock said frostily.  "And please remove your hand."

Kirk wouldn't let it be closed.  There was too much at stake.  And there was only one thing left to try.  "Look, I get it, I know I'm not Starfleet, I know I'm just a two-bit pirate, but…I'm asking you to _trust me_."

Silence.

From another man, the words might have been mocking, or scornful, or contemptuous.  From Spock, it was delivered absolutely flat, without so much as an eyebrow quirk, and somehow that only made it worse.  "You cannot be trusted.  You are a pirate.  You prey on defenseless merchant ships.  You told me the first time you betrayed my trust, and I have not forgotten, Mr. Kirk.  I would not trust you as far as I can throw you."

The bridge was silent.  Kirk just stared at him, swallowed hard, and nodded.  "Okay.  Maybe I did have that one coming," he said quietly.  "But please believe me, I'm not the same as I was when I said that, and if you listen to me now, I won't betray you."

Spock was unmoved, and neither was anyone else.  Kirk looked around, and knew that he wasn't convincing anyone.

The Sharks were turned against him.  His codes had been deciphered.  Any friendship he had thought he had made with the Starfleet crew clearly wasn't enough in this crisis.  He was thrown on nothing but his own resources.  He drew his phase pistol, backing up against the consoles, a movement that served only to increase the impression of a cornered animal making his last stand.  A stand that would not be effective.

"Put it down."

Eyes turned to the navigator's station, where Chekov had stood up.  "Put it down," he said again.  In his hand was a phaser, leveled at Kirk.

Kirk was more surprised than anything else.  "Where did you get that?"

"It vas Carl's.  Now put your phaser down."

Kirk hesitated.  The turbolift doors opened and let Gray and three security guards out.  Even with a phaser, Kirk didn't stand a chance, and he knew it.  Kirk opened his hand, and let his phaser drop to rest on the soft carpet of the bridge.

Spock nodded to the security guards.  "Take him to the brig."

Kirk wasn't going to go without a final appeal.  His eyes swept the bridge and landed on one person who had been uncharacteristically quiet, wrapped in his own thoughts.

"Bones, you _know_!  You know what I'm like, you know I'm not all bad, Bones!"

McCoy wouldn't meet his eyes, and right now he had about as much expression as Spock.  "It's McCoy," he said quietly.  "Dr. McCoy."

A defeated expression crossed Kirk's face, and he slumped.  He revived when the guards laid hold of him and started moving towards the turbolift.  Kirk struggled against them, with little to no effect.  "No, wait…I know, I'm a rat, I'm a pirate, I'm a…_Cossack_!  But can't any of you believe me, I'm trying to _help you_!" 

The turbolift doors closed on his shouts.

No one on the bridge moved immediately.

"Are you…are you sure we did the right thing, Spock?" McCoy asked, fighting his doubts.

"Yes," Spock said firmly.  Almost too firmly.  Almost as though McCoy wasn't the only one who needed convincing.  "Mr. Kirk may be likeable but he is not trustworthy.  Nothing in his history or our personal experience of him suggests that we can trust him to act against his own best advantage.  So yes, we did the right thing."

"I hope so," McCoy said softly, eyes still on the turbolift doors.  "I really hope so."

------

PearlGirl: Well, I suppose it's not very nice of Kirk to abandon the Sharks to Starfleet, but, believe me, they deserve it, and anyway, they aren't exactly willing to listen to him anymore.  The Last Roundup, I've read it.  The ending was sad…I'd almost forgotten there were Orions in there but there were, weren't they?

Mzsnaz: I was trying for more normal Spock-McCoy interaction in that scene…and this universe or another, Kirk's very good at getting to the heart of Spock and McCoy's arguments. : )

ScifiMimi: Yes, more pirates.  And happy b-day!

Alania: As for Kirk abandoning the Sharks, see note to PearlGirl above.  Funny, I do kind of like to end chapters with red alerts…though I HATE it when other people do.  Odd.

Crazy Elleth: Come to think of it, they did declare something of a truce to argue with Kirk about why they argue.  I hadn't thought of it that way.  Amusing.

AliciaF: Yeah, I don't think, at this point, anybody cares too much about the pirates.  And just to make it perfectly clear, I'd never mean anything other than platonic with Kirk and McCoy, but, well, other people write other stories and I thought perhaps I ought to clarify that.  'nuff said.

Gurney Halleck: I just realized you're Wedge.  You pulled a Whatshername.  Oh well, glad to see you're still around.

MySchemingMind: That was long…that's okay though!  31: Y'know, that was a good call on McCoy…he has confidence in Kirk's abilities, but he isn't always quite sure about his integrity.  With Harry, I'm trying once again to separate him out from the other pirates a little because, well, I'm kinda fond of Harry.  As for Kirk not having any ideas…he was a little lost that evening, but by morning he was back on top of things.  Which isn't _too_ long, right?  32: I think Kirk did know why he didn't sell the _Enterprise_, but it was kind of this innate knowledge he couldn't verbalize or explain even to himself.  That bit about two men seeing the same lover, that is a fascinating analogy.  I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but it works.  The probability factor I roughly tried to figure out.  We were studying probability in math last month.  It's not that hard a problem, really, just the number of possible four-digit numbers multiplied by the number of possible names.  33: I don't think the Romulans would contact the Federation.  I mean, they don't want Starfleet to know they were considering a deal with Kirk.  And besides, while they don't like Kirk they really don't like the Federation, and I think they'd kind of enjoy a pirate hijacking a Starfleet ship and getting away with it, for a while at least.  Meanwhile, I'm still enjoying your analysis of the Kirk-McCoy relationship.  And as for that solution, it's coming up quite soon now…

Unrealistic: Hehe, had to have another Spock-McCoy argument, with Kirk as referee.  I hate cliffhangers too.  But you're actually fortunate, considering you reviewed this only the day before I'm posting again!

That's all.  And by the way, because I forgot to mention it last chapter, that bit Kirk concluded about McCoy making Spock a better Vulcan was borrowed/inspired by a conversation in "Locked Box" by Blynneda, available on this website and recommended.  And _that's_ all.


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Enterprise_ or her crew, nor do I own the Orions.  Not that I'd really want to own a bunch of Orions.  They probably smell.

I'm gonna do something wild and different, and answer reviews at the beginning, instead of the end.  Isn't variety fun?

MySchemingMind: I'm not sure what you mean about Spock and McCoy having one over on Kirk…they're completely serious about the whole business, definitely.  Though if you mean they probably wouldn't really give him to Starfleet, I can see that for sure.  Glad you liked when Kirk's being hauled away, I was trying for some drama there.  And I _had_ to give Chekov a chance to do something, he's been itching for it the whole novel.

Crazy Elleth: _Very_ good analysis on the situation.  Trouble is, Kirk's seeing it the way you set it out, but Spock, so far at least, is not.

Mzsnaz: So that's what ado means.  I think I knew it when I thought about it.  And what _will_ Kirk do?  Read on.

Ael: Amusing translation of "without further ado."  I love Shakespeare, taking a class next year.  And don't hate Spock, he's _trying_ to do the right thing!  He's wrong, but he's trying.

Beedrill: 33: Ooh, someone noticed that this was the first real Kirk-Spock-McCoy scene.  I completely agree, the three of them made the show, and keeping the balance between them is essential.  Which I like to think I've done by having lots of scenes with two of them interacting, but I figured I needed at least one with all three of them, so that I could get some of that dynamic in too.  "What makes your stories good... well, one of the factors at least... is the grasp you have on these characters. You know them, and you know how to use them the way they were meant to be used."  There you go again, making my day.  And speaking of day-making: 34: Have I mentioned that you have an amazing knack for pulling out of the chapter exactly what I was trying to get into it?  Like the various ironies, and McCoy's dilemma, and…well, not so much the chilling Spock line, though now that you bring it up I'm delighted to find out I successfully wrote something chilling.  Regarding sympathy for the antagonist: That's an accurate archetype for Kirk in this story, yes, but I'm not entirely sure he's the antagonist.  Actually, what it says in my notes is "Jim Kirk—Our hero.  And our villain."  And more, but that's the relevant part of my notes.

Samantha: I must say, you packed a lot of truth into that one line about shouldn't Spock know…but he doesn't.  Straight back to the core of the story, or one of the cores anyway.  Oh…and funny you should start your review that way.  I wrote the beginning of this chapter before reading your review and…funny.  Read on.

ScifiMimi: You're welcome on both counts!  A space battle, maybe.  Read on.

Alania: Glad you liked the recurring line.  I was concerned no one would remember it, after all this time.  I actually wrote some of last chapter way back near when that line was first said.  Speaking of the phaser, I've heard it said about, um, plays, I think, that if a gun shows up in the beginning, it had better go off by the end.  Somewhat analogous. 

Unrealistic: The situation does seem to be going a mite downhill, doesn't it?  As to how many problems are possible, I don't think there's a limit, though I suppose eventually you'd reach the point of absurdity.  Anyway, I'm sure Kirk is wondering the same thing. 

PearlGirl: When Kirk doesn't have a plan, it's definitely time to worry.  Though it ended up being the time to worry even when he did figure out a plan.  I guess Blackbeard had a black beard, I don't really know.  Did Bluebeard have a blue beard?  And you can consider the suspense alleviated, if you'll just read on.

So much for that.  Now for the feature presentation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"Damn it, damn it, _damn it_!"  Kirk slammed his fist against the wall of the brig, furious.

As per orders, Gray and his men had taken Kirk down to the brig, where they had at least been considerate enough to put him in a separate cell from Carl and Charlie.  Gray had then left one guard behind and gone, with the list of Kirk's codes, to see about opening the armories and rounding up the Sharks.  A situation that pleased Gray immensely.  The situation did not please Kirk so well.

"Damn it," Kirk said again, gave up on hitting walls and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.   He began pacing the length of the cell, up and back and up again, in hard fast strides, as though if he walked enough he could find the way out, not just of the brig but of the whole situation.  "I was right, I was right from the beginning," Kirk said aloud.  "Me, I watch out for _me_, and the rest of the galaxy better watch out for itself.  To hell with Starfleet and to hell with the Federation, and to hell with the whole god-damned business!  They don't need me, I don't need them.  They'd rather talk to the Orions, then they can go right ahead and do it.  Not _my_ business if they want to get themselves sold into slavery.  Not my _problem_ either, so they can just handle it themselves.  Starfleet, and their ships, and their crews, and their god-damned admirals, and their _stupid bloody_ tests can all go burn in Hell, and _I don't give a damn_!"

Kirk halted, out of breath from pacing and shouting, facing the back wall.  Then he sighed, and all the fire and fury fled.  It was a weary man who leaned his arms against the wall, resting his forehead on its cool metal.

"Are you done shouting yet?" Charlie called from the next cell over.

"Yes," Kirk said indistinctly.

He was finished.  No amount of ranting was going to help.  Because, when you came right down to it, no matter how much he shouted, he didn't mean a word of it.  He gave a damn.  He wasn't sure that he cared about Starfleet in the abstract, but he was very positive that he did care about the _Enterprise_, and that he cared about her crew.  He'd talked with them, laughed with them, fought with them, and that would have an effect on anyone.  Even if they couldn't trust him, he still cared about them.  And there was something more to it too.  Something had happened to him in the week he had been aboard the _Enterprise_.  When he had told Spock on the bridge that he wasn't the same as he'd been a week ago, it had been true.  He'd changed.  Or maybe, changed back.  Something about this ship and her crew had set him thinking on past dreams and hopes and aspirations and heartaches he had been burying for years.  And somehow, in all of that, he'd found a part of himself he had thought was gone for good.  The part that knew what really mattered, and what he really wanted out of the galaxy.  And what he could never have.  And it was that part that told him now just what it was that he had to do.

Kirk pushed away from the back wall and reached into the depths of his black leather jacket.  And brought out a tiny type-2 phaser.  Kirk looked contemplatively at the phaser lying in the palm of his hand.  "You remembered some things, Spock, but you forgot something else," Kirk said quietly.  "Pirate leaders _never_ carry only one weapon."

Then he expertly fired at a panel next to the cell door.  The panel sparked and smoked, and the forcefield fizzed and died.  Immediately Kirk shifted to cover the security guard and stun him, almost before that unfortunate soul could realize what had happened.  After that, Kirk's way was clear.  He had no intention of releasing Carl and Charlie.  Instead, he slid the phaser back into his jacket, and strode down the corridor, making for the docking bay.

On the bridge, things were calm by comparison.  Kind of.  A casual observer would have seen order, professionalism, and a careful pursuit of business.  A more careful viewer would have sensed the tension lurking beneath.

Little had changed since Kirk had been removed.  McCoy was still hanging about.  Sulu, Chekov and Uhura were intent on their respective stations.  Spock had not yet contacted the Orions.  Not unlike his strategy for handling Kirk, he saw no advantage in haste.  The Orions were not expecting activity for some time yet, and so he preferred to wait for the most advantageous circumstances.  Consequently he had used the last twenty minutes to find information on the Orion Syndicate.  And so the Orions had not yet been called when a call came from the brig.

The security guard's uncertain voice sounded over the bridge.  "Um, Mr. Spock…we've got kind of a problem…"

"Report," Spock said crisply.

"Well, I…don't quite know how to tell you this…"

"Begin at the beginning and proceed through with factual statements," Spock said with a trace of irritation.

It was very clear to everyone listening that the security guard wished the floor would open up and drop him screaming out into space.  "Mr. Kirk has escaped from the brig, sir."

Spock grew very still.  "And how has he accomplished this feat?"

The security guard, if possible, grew more uncomfortable.  "He had a phaser.  We guess it was in his jacket."

"I see," Spock said curtly.  "Make every effort to recapture him.  Bridge out."  Spock ended the transmission, with a thoughtful expression.  "Of course," he murmured, "pirates never carry only one—"

"Mr. Spock, the docking bay doors are opening!" Sulu announced as his console beeped.

Spock's head snapped up, thoughtfulness gone.  "Override," he ordered.  "Close those doors."

Sulu tried several controls, then cursed.  "There's a ship powering up already.  Safety protocols are overriding, the doors can't be closed."

"Which ship?" Spock asked.

"The Sharks'," Sulu answered grimly.

"Lifesigns?"

"One."

"It's got to be Ji—" McCoy hesitated, then decided he meant it, "_Jim_, it has to be."

"That does seem probable," Spock acknowledged.

"Maybe it's just as well," McCoy said meditatively, knowing his position was hardly Starfleet and not caring.  "He doesn't belong in a penal colony."

"That is not for us to decide.  That is up to the Federation justice system," Spock said sharply. 

Quite sharply, for Spock, and McCoy didn't fail to notice that tell-tale trace of emotion.  McCoy gave him a long, long look, and Spock finally looked away.

"He does seem…somewhat…unsuited…to a planet-bound life," Spock said faintly.

"Aha," McCoy said significantly.

"Doctor, this is irrelevant," Spock said tersely, all business and Vulcan reserve once more.  "Mr. Sulu, what is the heading of Kirk's vessel?"

"That Class-M planet?" McCoy suggested.

"Rigel, maybe?" Uhura hazarded.

"Risa," was Chekov's guess.

The answer was no one's guess.  "His heading…is towards the Orion ships," Sulu said, surprised.

And the situation grew far more serious.

"Are you certain?" Spock asked.

"Of course I am," Sulu said, faintly stung by the implication that he may have made a mistake.

"Fascinating," Spock said softly.

"He _is_ planning to make a deal with them.  I don't believe it!" McCoy said.

"That is what appears to be true," Spock observed.  "He is clearly on an intercept course, almost certainly with the intention of docking with—"

"Mr. Spock," Sulu interrupted, "he can't be."

Spock looked at him quizzically.

"I know that make of ship," Sulu went on.  "It's old now, and was never state of the art to begin with, and it's got some quirks.  If he wanted to go to the nearest planet and put her in orbit, I think he could do that.  But he can't be planning to dock her.  There's only one lifesign, and that ship _can't_ be docked by only one person."

"But if he cannot dock her…" Spock said slowly.

It all came clear to McCoy.  "He's not making a deal with them, and he's not on an intercept course," McCoy said hollowly.  "He's on a collision course."

"Hail Mr. Kirk's vessel," Spock said at once, moving up to stand by the command chair.  He didn't sit down.

"Hailing," Uhura murmured, hands moving over her controls.

Within moments the starfield and the exterior of the Shark's vessel faded to be replaced by the interior of said vessel.  And that vessel's sole inhabitant.

"Could you make it fast?" Kirk asked.  "I'm kind of busy."

"Mr. Kirk, you are on a collision course for the Orion ships," Spock said crisply.

"Thank you, Spock, I already knew that, but I always appreciate your input.  Anything else you'd like to say?" Kirk asked, hand over the control board to end the call.

McCoy stepped in then, coming up to stand on the other side of the command chair from Spock.  "Jim, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

Kirk's eyebrow rose.  "Never let it be said that you beat around the bush, Bones."

"It's Mc—" he began, then stopped.  "You know what, forget it.  Now what are you _doing_?"

Kirk stared at him, amazed.  "You didn't correct me.  I called you Bones, and you didn't—"

"You're about to crash into Orion ships and you're worrying about _nicknames_?"

"Well now, if you already know I'm about to crash into the Orion ships, why are you asking what I'm doing?"

McCoy gave up.  "_You_ talk to him," he snapped at Spock.

"As I said, you are going to crash.  Turn your ship around," Spock said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"Don't think I will.  And by the way, this is a _fine_ time to start worrying about my welfare," Kirk said lightly.  "I thought I was the pirate you wouldn't trust as far as you can throw me.  And by the way," he added, "how far _do_ you think a Vulcan could throw someone?"

Spock's jaw tightened.  "Turn your ship around, I have no desire to see you die."

Kirk laid a hand on his heart.  "Spock, I'm touched, genuinely touched.  I forgive you for the trust business."

"Mr. Kirk—"

"I know, I know, turn the ship around.  Well I won't, because that would defeat the whole point."

"And the point _is_?"

"Well…it's like this.  You can't talk to the Orions.  Don't argue with me because it's true."

Spock had picked up _something_ in his twenty minutes of reading about the Orion Syndicate.  "It may be," he acknowledged.

"And you can't beat them in a fight.  And you wouldn't trust me and follow my plan.  So this is the only way left.  I take the ship in, set her on self-destruct, explode among them, and it'll take out two or three of them.  Leaving the _Enterprise_.  Which is enough, because I've changed my goal again.  First it was the money.  Then it was to get the _Enterprise_ and myself out of this whole mess in one piece.  Now it's just to get the _Enterprise_ out."

Precisely what he was planning to do sunk into everyone on the bridge, and it wasn't met with approval.  Surely there was…_something_ else they could do.

"Jim, don't do this," McCoy said.

"Sorry, Bones, but this is something I have to do."

"_Why_?"

Kirk shrugged, and tried, with marginal success, to maintain his previous light tone.  "Maybe I just want to prove to the galaxy that I'm not such a bad guy after all.  Maybe I have something against Orions.  Hell, maybe I kind of like you people.  Or maybe…"  He faltered slightly, lost his light tone, but picked up and kept going.  "Maybe I just…want to make a difference."

Very quietly and very discreetly Uhura flipped a switch and Kirk's voice was broadcast throughout the ship.

"That's why we're all out here.  Isn't it?" Kirk asked.  "Because of a dream?  Because we want to know, more, see more, go places no one's ever been.  And maybe, if we're lucky, somewhere along the way, we'll make a difference.  We'll change the galaxy.

"Well, that's why I came out here anyway, originally.  But I kinda forgot that, for a long time.  And then something about all of you, something about your ship…you got to me.  And I remembered.  I remembered looking at the stars for the first time, and knowing, _knowing_, that that was where I belonged.  That was where I could make a difference.  And that's what it's about.  It's not about the paycheck, or the pension plan, or family legacy.  It can't be, there's _got_ to be something else.  And I have to believe that it's about the stars.  And the dream.  I don't know, I'm talking too much, but…try to remember that for me, all right?  Because I don't think I've got much longer to keep it in mind."

It was a reminder of the present, of the events passing around them.

Sulu checked his board.  "Two-thousand kilometers from the Orion ships and closing," he reported quietly.  "The Orions haven't moved."

"I believe that's my cue," Kirk said evenly.  "Just one more thing.  Throw the book at the Sharks, Spock, they've all got it coming, believe me.  Except…don't be too rough on Harry.  He's a crook and a scoundrel and he'd cheat his own mother if he thought he could get away with it, but…he's not really a bad guy either."

"I will keep that in mind," Spock said, "but at the moment that is a relatively inconsequential matter.  There must be another option for handling the Orions."

"There isn't.  You know that."

"There are always possibilities."

Kirk shook his head.  "Not today, Spock.  Not today."

"We could attempt your original plan," Spock proposed.

"My original plan had a crew on this ship.  I can't do much in a fight alone, and I can't come back for a crew.  Turning back now would tip the Orions off that something was up, and that would be the end of our last chance.  Besides, I've only got a minute left on the self-destruct countdown."

"If you shut off the self-destruct—"

"It doesn't," Kirk interrupted.  "This isn't the _Enterprise_.  Self-destruct turns on fine.  The deactivation doesn't work so well."

"We could lock transporters—" Spock began.

"You'd have to lower shields," Kirk said over him, "and with the Orions around don't even _think_ about it."

"There must be something—"

"No.  There isn't.  I'm afraid this is it."  Kirk looked at the bridge crew, at Sulu, Chekov and Uhura at their respective stations, at Spock and McCoy standing on either side of the empty command chair, and smiled.  "Good-bye, everyone.  It's been wonderful to know you, all of you.  And Spock, Bones, try not to fight _too_ much, okay?"

"Mr. Kirk—"

"Jim—"

Kirk grinned.  "I'll be seeing you."

And in the space of an instant, three things happened.  A panel on Kirk's ship beeped, very quietly and very inconsequentially.  Kirk's eyes shut.  The picture vanished.

It was replaced by a view of the Orion ships.  Never suspecting a thing, they had never moved away from the approaching pirate ship.  Where the pirate ship had been, there was now a ball of flame, one great blaze of glory.  It spread hungrily outward, swallowing the nearest Orion ship and licking at the two others as well.

"My God…" McCoy breathed.

Within moments one of the ships was a crazily spinning hulk, fires raging along sections of it.  One was nothing but fragments, bits and pieces scattered about, each moving under the drive of its own inertia.  The third was barely intact enough to limp away at warp one.  The pirate ship—and its inhabitant—was gone.

The bridge crew sat frozen.  Frozen in place.  Frozen in time.  Frozen in a silence so complete that it seemed as though unbroken even by breathing or the beating of hearts.  The silence of space.  The silence of death.

"He vasn't a Cossack," Chekov said, fighting both the silence and the lump in his throat.  "And he vasn't a rat.  He vasn't even a pirate, not really.  He vas…vas…"  Chekov shook his head.  "I don't know.'

The answer came from next to the empty command chair.  "I know what he was," McCoy said slowly.  "He was a captain."


	36. Chapter ThirtySix

Disclaimer: After thirty-five chapters, it's still not mine.

Wow…No one believes he's dead…well, almost no one, anyway.  Maybe it's kind of like King Arthur.  He's so much larger than life that no one can believe he'd _really_ die, and so must be sleeping on an enchanted isle somewhere, until Britain needs him again.  So…if you'd like to place Kirk on the Isle of Avalon, I give you leave to do so, while I quietly tie up the last bits of my story.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

In the aftermath of his death, Kirk left a very stunned bridge crew behind him.  Stunned, and regretful.

"We should have seen it," McCoy said grimly.  "We were worried about whether he was trustworthy, and he was out planning kamikaze runs!  He _asked_ us to trust him.  But we just couldn't see it."

"It was hardly a predictable move on his part," Spock pointed out.

"We should have seen it," McCoy repeated.

"Yeah, but…one week ago he was a pirate," Sulu said.  "And none of us believed he could change that much in such a short time."

"He didn't change, really," Uhura said, eyes glistening.  "He was a captain all along, only we didn't know it.  And neither did he."

"We should have known.  _I_ should have known," McCoy said savagely.  "He _told_ me he wanted to be a starship captain.  But instead of looking at that and seeing that he wasn't really so bad, _I_ have to look at it and see a way to figure out his codes.  And then on the bridge today…and because of it all he ends up getting himself killed."

"Oh no, Doctor, don't look at it that way," Uhura told him.  "Don't look at it as him dying because of you, or because of us.  Look at it as…him dying _for_ us."

It was a good point, but it hardly settled the issue.  The conversation undoubtedly could have continued, and maybe it would have been healthy if it had, from a psychological standpoint.  But the efficient running of starships doesn't always take psychology into account.  They couldn't spend all morning on guilt, or even on grief.  Even if the Orions no longer needed consideration, starships don't run themselves.  Especially when you have twenty pirates wandering your halls.

They had to stand down from red alert.  They had to run a check of departments and systems, something regulations required after all red alerts, even if there hadn't been any battle.  They had to log and note certain events.  They had to run Kirk's codes through various ship's functions to determine what each did until the system could be reprogrammed.  Spock directed it all, a somber presence at the science station.  Sulu, Chekov and Uhura stuck to their stations.  McCoy lurked, unwilling to leave just yet.

The administrative duties proved to be the most trouble after all.  The Sharks, in the end, were rounded up with almost remarkable ease.  As had been predicted, once Kirk was removed the Sharks lost all organization.  O'Riley might have done all right as leader given a little time to settle in, but he wasn't given that time.  Thrust into a sudden crisis, he didn't have Kirk's flare for command, or his ability to think on his feet.  Gray armed his security guards in the armories and they rounded up the Sharks in twos and threes.  The brig cells were filled to capacity.  Carl and Charlie had more company than they knew what to do with.  It wasn't very happy company though.

"The damned fool sold us out," O'Riley growled, a fuming presence against the back wall of the cell.  "He got himself killed and left us to land in a penal colony."

"He died to save the ship," Reeves pointed out, without much conviction, from his position on the end of one bench.

"And if he had stuck to the plan like he was supposed to, he wouldn't have _had_ to!" O'Riley snapped.

Most of the crowded cell murmured and muttered agreements.  Death had done nothing to reconcile them to Kirk's failure to sell the ship to the Romulans.

"He got _weird_ ideas since we came here, _really_ weird ideas," O'Riley went on.  "If he'd kept his priorities straight, we wouldn't be in this mess.  He'd be alive and we'd be rich.  We'd have _millions_.  But no, that swaggering, tin-plated dictator with delusions of _godhood_ has to throw it all away, then go off and get himself killed on some _crackbrained_ scheme—"

"_Shut up_."  Harry Mudd stood up from his seat in the corner, pushed past two or three pirates, and crossed the cell to glare at O'Riley in unbridled fury.  "Shut _up_, and don't _ever_ let me hear you say anything against Jim again!"

O'Riley shut up.  And in that moment, Harry completely redeemed himself of any and all disloyalty he'd ever shown to Jim Kirk.

The rest of the ship was at least as unsettled as the pirates, though in a less confrontational way.  Starfleet was more somber, reflective, and saddened.  They were also throwing themselves into the work of getting the ship straightened out, which, as Chekov noted, would at least make for a smoothly run ship.  Of course, they were also worrying about something besides the money.  McCoy left the bridge to grab a sandwich late in the morning, and to get a look at the state of the crew.

"They're shell-shocked," was McCoy's professional opinion, as he informed the bridge crew upon his return.  "Even though they haven't used shells in war for centuries, the principle is still the same, and they've got it.  Jim really hit home with them.  We've got a crew of 400 people who'll be doing some soul-searching for awhile."

"Four-hundred, twenty-two," Spock said calmly, standing near his station.

McCoy blinked.  "What?"

"422 crewmembers involved in soul-searching.  Our current number is 423.  I of course except myself."

McCoy looked at him for a long moment.  "Of course," he said finally, in a tone that hardly betokened agreement.

Spock looked away.

After a moment, McCoy shifted and went on.  "There's, ah, there's something in particular I've been thinking about…the crew has too, in fact, and, well…what are we going to tell Starfleet about all of this?  About Jim?"

"I am going to tell them that Jim Kirk was the leader of the Sharks, and proceed with a narration of the events of the past week," Spock said evenly.  "In short, the truth."

Chekov shifted uncomfortably, aware that Sulu and Uhura both had expressions of displeasure.  They were all seeing something wrong with this plan, and Chekov would bet that it was the same thing McCoy and others of the crew had seen.

"Well…that's a bit of a problem, Spock," McCoy went on.  "Because, see, the crew's been thinking, and…the Sharks were all over the update channels before we got to the Palladium system.  The news programs were painting their leader as, alternately, Captain Hook or Jack the Ripper.  We tell Starfleet what happened, they're not going to want much of the story out.  I mean, we know how it all happened, but it won't look very good for the public to know that pirates were in control of a starship for a week.  So Starfleet'll abridge the story, but enough will get out to report the death of the leader of the Sharks.  And the reporters will _love_ it.   They've set up the whole story with Jim as the villain, and they're dying to end with the hanging of the pirate.  And see, that's the problem, because that's how the story'll get told, and that's how Jim'll be written down and remembered.  It won't matter that he saved the ship, and the dream won't make any difference.  He'll be remembered as the villain, and it isn't right."

"An unfortunate situation," Spock said noncommittally.  "I hardly see what can be done about it though."

McCoy licked his lips, and everyone could tell that he felt this was the harder part.  "Well, see, it's all a matter of what we do and don't tell Starfleet on the first report.  If we tell them that Jim Kirk saved the ship without letting slip that he was also the leader of the Sharks, he'll be a hero overnight.  The update channels will run with it, and by the time it gets out that he was also the Sharks' leader they'll have built him up so high to the public that they _can't_ make him the villain.  They'll be forced to present it as the pirate-turned-hero, instead of as the ruthless pirate getting justice, you see?"

Spock successfully zeroed in to the heart of the matter, which had been buried under fine sentiment and noble idea.  "You are asking me to lie to Starfleet."

"Only to distort the truth a little, " McCoy countered, "and only for a little while.  We'll explain the whole thing to Admiral Nogura afterwards, and I'm betting he goes for it.  And even if he doesn't, the whole crew's in agreement and they can't court-martial all of us."

"It is a risk nonetheless," Spock noted.

McCoy met his eyes, deep blue ones to deep brown ones.  "Can't we take a risk, for once?  For Jim?"

Spock looked away.

"Come on, Spock, it's in a good cause," McCoy urged.  "And it's not a big thing, really…"

"Your arguments are not logical, Doctor," Spock said crisply.

McCoy very nearly recoiled.  As it was, his face darkened into a scowl and he glared at Spock.  Glares matched by the rest of the bridge crew.  Ironically, the same glares they had given to Kirk when he had first arrived on the bridge.  Spock ignored the glares just as steadily as Kirk had.  No one had anything to say.  The subject, apparently, was closed.

"I believe it _is_ time we contacted Starfleet," Spock noted.  He crossed the bridge and sat down in the center chair for the first time in seven days.  He appeared perched there, barely seated, certainly not settled.  If it was possible to sit in that chair without making a dent in the seat, Spock was going to do it.

Chekov found that Spock looked far more unnatural there then Kirk ever had.  Which he didn't find at all surprising.  Merely sad.

If Spock was thinking of chairs, he didn't show it.  "Lt. Uhura, contact Starfleet Command, Admiral Nogura's direct line, please."

Uhura frowned, but she responded with "Aye, sir," and complied.

For a week long-range communications had been blocked by one of Kirk's codes, but with the lifting of the codes had come a lifting of that ban.  Soon they had reached Admiral Nogura's secretary, and with a minimum of trouble were put through to the Admiral himself.

Nogura seemed pleased to receive the call.  "Mr. Spock, I am frankly relieved to hear from you.  We were beginning to entertain grave concerns about the status of the _Enterprise_, after so many days with no reports."

"Communications were inoperative for some time," Spock said without inflection.

Nogura nodded.  "I did consider that possibility.  I trust you've solved the problem."

"One could say that."

"I see.  Now, ah, where's Captain Lowell?"

"The Captain is unfortunately incapacitated at present," Spock responded.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nogura said, apparently sincerely.

"Dr. McCoy maintains that he should be fine."

"Good, good, glad to hear it.  Now, how is your mission proceeding?  What information we have been able to gather is of course sketchy at best, and in some instances quite wild.  For instance, one report located you near the Romulan Empire.  Unconfirmed, naturally, but—"

"We were."

Nogura's eyebrows rose.  "Hardly seems like a necessary place to go when chasing down pirates."

"Indeed.  But when hijacked by pirates, there is no telling where one may go," Spock said blandly.

Nogura's eyebrows went up even farther.  "_Hijacked_ by _pirates_?"

"We have had an eventful week," Spock said calmly.  A vast understatement, that.

"Perhaps you should elaborate," Nogura hinted.

Spock nodded curtly.  "We came upon and engaged the Sharks seven days ago.  It was in this encounter that Captain Lowell was injured and subsequently entered a coma.  After the battle we were boarded.  The pirates managed to hack into our computer systems and thus gain control of the ship.  We were then taken to the Romulan Empire, engaging one crew of criminals in battle en route.  Upon reaching the Romulan Empire the plans for selling the _Enterprise_ could not be carried out.  We continued traveling for another day, when we encountered the Orion Syndicate.  It was in the middle of this encounter that we were able to regain control of the ship.  The Orions were destroyed shortly afterwards.  That was earlier this morning."

There was a brief pause.  "That's…quite eventful, all right," Nogura said finally.

And heavily abridged, Chekov observed.  Didn't even mention Kirk.  But they'd come around to the leader of the Sharks soon enough.  And that was exactly how he would be remembered too, Chekov noted with deep resentment.

The conversation was progressing.

"I must say, that's very impressive work," Nogura commented.  "The Orion Syndicate is hard to beat."

The muscles in Spock's jaw tightened very slightly.  "The defeat of the Orion ships was not brought about by any member of this crew.  The destruction of the Orions and therefore rescue of this ship and all aboard was brought about by the self-sacrifice of one Jim Kirk."

"A non-crewmember?"  Nogura frowned in puzzlement.  "Why was a non-crewmember aboard?"

Here it came, Chekov thought in resignation.

Except that it didn't come, because Nogura didn't give Spock a chance to respond.  "Though now that I think about it, you do carry civilians fairly often, don't you?  Most starships don't, but staying in the Federation as you are you're far more likely to be carrying passengers at any given time.  Well, it was very unfortunate things came about that way.  What did you say his name was?  We'll naturally make note of his sacrifice."

Until they realized the real reason he was aboard.

"His name was Jim Kirk," Spock answered.

"Jim Kirk…" Nogura repeated slowly.  "Odd, that name sounds familiar…"  Realization dawned.  "We had a Jim Kirk at Starfleet Academy some fifteen years back.  Probably not the same one though."

So he _had_ gone to Starfleet Academy.  All things considered, Chekov felt no great surprise.

"Actually, it is very likely the same individual."

"It does sound like something he would have done," Nogura mused.  "A good lad, Jim Kirk.  I always thought it a shame…I had a feeling he could have been a fine officer."  Nogura sighed.  "Well, I'm sorry to hear of his death."

Spock's only response was a single nod.  Chekov felt irrationally irritated at this meager response.  Leave it to a Vulcan to not even care.

"Well," Nogura said briskly, "the Orion pirates are of course our secondary concern.  What about our primary pirates, the Sharks?"

"The Sharks have been captured, and are presently under guard in the brig.  Their number is twenty-five," Spock answered.

"Excellent.  And the leader of the Sharks, do you have him?"

There was a collective intake of breaths all around the bridge.  There was no collective release.

"The leader of the Sharks is dead," was Spock's only answer.

Nogura frowned.  "That's unfortunate, that he'll never stand trial for his crimes.  Did you at least manage to identify him?"

Chekov reflected that, in all likelihood, Spock was the only one visible on Nogura's screen.  Only able to see Spock's expressionless face, he probably believed everything was fine.  Had he been able to see McCoy's murderous glare at Spock, Sulu's stiff-lipped anger, Uhura's trembling hands, or Chekov's own mutinous expression, Nogura might have realized differently.

"It was a simple matter to obtain the identities of most of the Sharks," Spock said slowly, "as we interacted with them all for a week.  Their leader…" Spock hesitated for just a heartbeat, then went on, "was also aboard the ship, but the other Sharks referred to him simply as 'cap'n.'  We have not yet determined if they know his name."

Nogura accepted it.  "Pity, but as he is dead it makes little difference regardless.  I commend the entire crew on your excellent work.  I'll expect a full report as soon as possible, of course.  Command out."

The viewscreen faded to star-studded blackness.  No one spoke.  All eyes were on Spock, no one quite believing what had just been said.  Spock glanced around the bridge, his gaze eventually coming to rest on McCoy.  McCoy's expression was one of wonder, the expression of a man who had found something new and strange, and only just realized that it was good too.

"Your arguments were not logical, Doctor," Spock said carefully, "but they also were not without merit."

"Why, Spock," McCoy said quietly.  "You _do_ have a heart."

Spock's eyebrow shot up.  "Really, Doctor, after having me in your medical care for the last three years, you remain unaware of this most basic fact of Vulcan anatomy?  I find this quite disturb—"

"Sure, Spock.  Sure," McCoy interrupted, with a lop-sided smile.  "Whatever you say."  Then he turned and strolled to the turbolift.  It really was time he got back to Sickbay.

------

Gurney Halleck: Those _are_ rather far-fetched theories.  And I'm kind of tempted to dance around it and say that sometimes stories can be far-fetched, but…well, there's no real point in doing that, is there?  See above, I believe it was Uhura who commented on how much he did or didn't change.  Glad you liked the chapter though!

Emp: S'okay about missing chapters, I'm still behind on several stories…heh heh.

Mzsnaz: "Phoenix from the flames," beautiful image.  Not quite applicable in this case, but a very nice image.  Glad the McCoy line was so well received.  Is the suspense settled yet?

MySchemingMind: Nope, can't keep Kirk in the brig for long, as was shown in…the fifth movie, I think it was.  As to whether Kirk would have a back-up plan…I'll be honest here, it worries me that you think he would.  Not worried about you, worried about the story.  Because…no.  He didn't.  He's pushed to the very end of desperation here, all other plans are infeasible, he's kind of on his back-up plan when he sacrifices himself.  And that's just the way the story is, the entire novel, in a lot of ways, has been targeting this end…so I'm standing by Kirk's death as necessary.  But you write such wonderfully insightful reviews, it worries me a little if you don't see that…  But on the other hand…it's gotta be more believable than that he wouldn't have a back-up plan to get out from under a bridge, right?

Ael: That's Jim.  Noble.  Isn't that why we love him?

Unrealistic: Yeah…I killed him.  But I _had_ to, it's not my fault!  And…"fuzzy and sad," really?  I had hoped it would be.

Sallylouvoodoo: Oh, I'm glad you liked the ending!  Definitely the goal: after an entire novel of slowly evolving characters, in the last climax Kirk is finally the Kirk we all know and love.  And as to the "quarrelsome ducks" line…lol!

Hanakin222: Physically impossible?  Now wait, just because he's Kirk doesn't mean he's immortal…but I know what you mean, really.  And as to what I was thinking: if Kirk's transition from pirate to captain was going to be complete (and that's pretty much been the aim of the entire book), it had to end with self-sacrifice.  So it did.

MickeyLeek: Can't lower shields, remember?  Although that would be the best guess for how to get him out of it.  And it's not quite over, as you can see from this chapter, and the fact that there's another one coming.

Njong: I'm glad you've been enjoying the story!  So you predicted my ending, eh?  Good for you!  It kinda had to happen, is my feeling on the matter.  And there _is_ more coming, like an epilogue.  I promise some fuzzy feelings before the end.

Beedrill: Congratulations on the promotion, lol!  "A most appropriate death."  Thank you, thank you, thank you!  Exactly what I was going for; it had to end with Kirk dead, but I wanted to make sure I sent him out the right way.  And I'm so glad you liked the speech, I was afraid that was going to become preachy.  Ah yes, the Spock and McCoy convo…Spock's little hesitation, finally making a very subtle Spock acknowledgment that he really kinda likes Kirk too.  And The Chair…[bounces] yes, yes, YES!  [virtual hug] I'm SO glad you commented on that!  You exactly got what I was trying to do with that!  Also what I was trying to do putting the replies first…can't end with a very dramatic scene and then go straight into replies, it didn't feel right.  And it's not _quite_ the end…

Eve: I'm glad you like the story!  It's always nice to find out there's other people following it.  Not quite the ending yet…you'll know it when it comes.

Crazy Elleth: Now there's my feelings on the matter: "the only end that makes sense."  Are you sure you don't believe it, at least a little bit?

Samantha: Still feeling like the Romulan Commander, eh?  Good, that's a continuing thing, I think.  Chekov finally came around…too late, but it had to happen at last.  And another note on the command chair, which Spock doesn't sit in…glad you caught that.  Good analysis on Spock, that's his primary difference from our universe Spock all throughout—no Kirk to help pull him out of his cold Vulcan shell.  "He was a captain."  Yeah…that does pretty much say everything…

'Tis all.  Just one chapter to go…can't believe it's almost over…sniff.  Well, never mind that now, you go on to reviews while I see about that last chapter.


	37. Chapter ThirtySeven

Disclaimer: It isn't mine.  You know what I'm talking about.

Well.  Here we are, one more time.  I think I'll reply at the beginning again.  Not because anyone else dies, just…because.  So here goes:

Ael: Pleased to be of assistance for your story.  I'll expect fifteen-percent royalties on it, of course…just kidding, I'll count the laugh I got from the first part of your review as my payment and leave it at that.

Mzsnaz: The suspense is rather over, isn't it?  But I figure the last two chapters should be used for easing down from the climax and tying up points to get to the end.  The "tin-plated god" line was from Trouble with Tribbles, which I was watching while working on that chapter.  Ah, what will Lowell be like when he awakes?  Read on.

Mickey Leek: Thank you for the compliments to my writing!  No sling-shotting, unfortunately, but we will settle remaining issues.

AliciaF: Thank you so much for the lovely review!  And though Kirk may be gone, at least they're remembering him right. 

Jennifer: My goodness, you analyzed Kirk's death (or lack thereof) rather thoroughly.  I'll give you this: IF I write a sequel  (I make no promises) Kirk will be back, and Spock'll be the one to find him.  _However_, for all intents and purposes, eyes shut or open, Kirk died in the explosion.  Of course, you can always imagine him on the Isle of Avalon if you like.

Crazy Elleth: Some of the logic in illogic.  So true.

Kyer: "the most plausible ending to your story"—That's pretty much how I felt on it; this was the only ending that made sense to me.  And I'm glad you prefer it to _Generations_!  I was trying hard to give him the death he deserves…as opposed to certain bridges…

Emp: Made plenty of sense.  And Spock's finally showing the nicer side we all know he has, yes.

Unrealistic: Spock and Harry were rather nice in the last one, weren't they?  And that's not the last for either of them.  Read on.  And as for Lowell, also read on.

Alania: Oo China?  Way cool!  And definitely a valid excuse!  I'm glad you like the ending…not that you liked Kirk's death because you didn't, but that you liked it _as_ an ending, if that makes sense.  It always seemed inevitable to me, at least.  And Starfleet _can_ ask the Sharks the name of their leader and they will, but by the time it comes out the press will have already made a big fuss about how heroic Jim Kirk was, so they can't just turn around and start presenting him as the villain when the truth comes out.  As for Lowell, read on.

Beedrill: Funny you should ask about the tribbles.  Not because they show up, because they don't, but…well, there's the definite potential for them in the Enterprise's future.  You'll see, I think.  Oh wow, I thought it was just my friends who said "squee."  I promise more "squee"-worthy scenes coming up.

PearlGirl: No problem on belated review, China and FF-screw-ups are good excuses.  Ah yes, Spock has to say "fascinating" some time.  I'm so glad you don't think it was cheesy!  I'm always afraid I'll edge into that.  Emotions are harder than humor, for me anyway.

Samantha: "they just couldn't NOT love Jim, could they?"—[sighs in tone usually reserved for Johnny Depp] Yeah…   And good call on Nogura.  He's really the only one who cares about Lowell, and Kirk's the only one remotely interested in him.  I feel kinda the same way about ending…happy, but also sorta sad.  But, all good things…so on to the last chapter.

----

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Things were slowly settling back into a normalcy that had not been seen on the _Enterprise_ for a week.  After the call to Starfleet, the _Enterprise_ was directed to the nearest Starfleet outpost, there to see about any remaining repairs, transferring the Sharks, medical for Captain Lowell, and word on their next mission.  Aboard the ship, there was a definite return to normal duties, business, and order.  And yet, it was a thoughtful crew going about those duties.  In a week, the crew had gotten Kirk thinking of new ideas, of dreams and of destinies.  And in his last words, Kirk had gotten the crew thinking of those things too.  And so things were settling, but slowly.  And there were a few unusual events left to handle.

The day after Kirk's death, Spock came into Sickbay.  He was not ill or injured, and it was not time for his annual medical checkup, yet he was there.  Such a thing was unheard of.

"Is Dr. McCoy in?" Spock asked the nearest nurse.

She looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.  "Um…he's in his office…I'll get him."

McCoy came out a few minutes later, mastering his surprise somewhat better than his nurse.  "Something I can do for you, Spock?"

"I was writing out my report to Starfleet, and I have a question."

"Okay…" McCoy said dubiously.  "Fire away."

Spock's eyebrow rose.  "Fire—"

"Just ask the question," McCoy said hastily.

"Very well.  What does it mean to 'throw the book' at someone?"

Whatever McCoy had expected, that wasn't it.  "_What_?"

"Mr. Kirk instructed me to 'throw the book' at the Sharks.  I am, however, unfamiliar with the phrase."

"_Oh_.  Well, it just means to get the full penalty of the law on them."

"I see.  Thank you."  Spock turned to go.

"He did say that, didn't he?" McCoy mused.

Spock paused.  "He did."

"Except for Harry."

"Yes.  Except for Harry."

They reached the Starfleet outpost three days later and put into orbit around the planet.  The Sharks were slated to be transferred into custody of the Starfleet colony in the afternoon.  In the morning, McCoy visited the brig.

"Morning, Simmons," McCoy said pleasantly to the guard on duty.  "How's that knee of yours?"

"Much better, Doctor, thanks."

"Good, glad to hear it.  Listen, I need Harry Mudd briefly.  Medical business, nothing too serious.  Could you get him out for me?"

Simmons at once grew nervous, a condition he was very familiar with.  "Oh, uh, I don't know, Doctor, letting a prisoner out of the brig, that's not exactly…"

McCoy smiled.  "Come on now, Simmons.  I'm chief medical officer.  Surely I have the necessary authorization."

"Oh, well…yeah, I guess so…okay, Doctor."  Simmons dropped the forcefield, and singled Harry out from the crowd of Sharks within.

"Thank you," McCoy said brightly to Simmons, grasped Harry by the upper arm, and propelled him down the corridor.

"I'm not sick, you know," Harry told him as they walked on.

"Fine."

"I'm really not," Harry added a corridor later.

"Okay."

Two corridors after that, Harry ventured to point out, "This…isn't the way to Sickbay, is it?"

"No," McCoy said without explanation.

And on arriving: "This is the transporter room…"

"Yes," McCoy agreed.  He pulled Harry within, and turned to Spock, who was standing behind the controls.  "Ready?"

Spock made several adjustments to the controls, then nodded.  "I have set the transporter to take effect in ten seconds.  We had best take our places."

Spock stepped onto the transporter padd, and McCoy followed, dragging the reluctant and confused Harry along.

"Now wait a minute," Harry protested, "just what's—"

The transporters whirred and sparkled, and Harry finished his sentence on the planet.

"—going _on_ here?" Harry demanded.

"We are letting you go," Spock said simply.

"You're_ what_?"

McCoy handed the bewildered Harry a stack of credits.  "Here's enough money to get you onto a transport off planet.  Get out of here as fast as you can, and don't ever come back."

Harry's hand closed automatically on the money, but he didn't move.  He looked at them suspiciously.  "Why are you doing this?"

It was Spock who explained.  "Before his death, Mr. Kirk made the statement that the Sharks all deserve whatever the Federation justice system decrees for them.  I believe him.  You, however, and you alone, he singled out with the assertion that you are, I quote, 'not really a bad guy.'  We have chosen to believe him on this as well."

"It's simple, really.  We're giving you the chance to run," McCoy said quietly.  "So go, and don't ever tell anyone about this, because we'll deny it."

"Oh, right, right, naturally."  Harry turned to go, but then paused to glance back.  "Um…I appreciate this.  What you're doing for me."

"We're not doing it for you," McCoy said, expression grim.

"Yeah.  I know.  But anyway…thank you."

McCoy's face lightened into a smile.  "You better go," he advised, "before Spock here remembers that this isn't entirely logical."

Harry went.

The record showed that Harry Mudd escaped after being removed from the brig for a medical check, and was subsequently able to enter an empty transporter room, beam down to the surface, and thus disappear into the galaxy.  A regrettable but hardly preventable incident.  That afternoon, the remainder of the Sharks were transferred to the holding facility on the planet, there to await a trial. 

Captain Lowell was transferred to the medical facility on the planet the same day the Sharks were transferred to the holding facility.  The medical facility was fully up-to-date, and they had on hand that complex and bulky machine for treating neural trauma that McCoy had been referencing for days.  And, as per McCoy's frequent assertions, with the right facilities Lowell's injuries were no great problem.  He was treated at one o'clock, and by three o'clock he was awake and coherent.  A nurse on the surface contacted McCoy when Lowell awoke (as McCoy had gone back up to the ship after the actual procedure) and McCoy beamed back down to check on the captain.

"Well, Captain, you were out quite awhile.  How do you feel?" McCoy asked Lowell. 

"My head hurts," Lowell admitted.

"Only to be expected after neural trauma," McCoy said briskly, mind back on the ship with the papers he had left when he beamed down to check Lowell.

"So, how long was I out, anyway?" Lowell asked.

"Ten days," McCoy said absently, checking readings on the biobed monitors.  No apparent problems.

Lowell stared at him.  "_Ten_ _days_?  Really?"

McCoy shrugged.  "Well, like I said, neural trauma.  You had an injury to your lower cranium, and could have been out a lot longer if not for the treatment here.  Lucky you didn't get that injury ten years ago."

"Yeah, I guess so."  Lowell lapsed into a meditative silence.

McCoy glanced down from the monitors and looked at Lowell for a moment, not quite sure what he was expecting or hoping for.  Unable to quite define the feeling he was having, he asked the best question he could think of.  "So, are you planning to ask about the ship any time soon?"  He managed to keep all but a trace of reproach out of his voice.

Lowell didn't even notice the reproach, but smiled and said, "Oh, I assumed it was fine, since—"

"She," McCoy said automatically.  "You mean, 'she was fine.'"

The smile broadened a little.  "Doctor, I never took you for superstitious."

"It's not a matter of superstition, Captain.  Ships are women."

"Well, yes, I suppose that's how the tradition goes," Lowell acknowledged.  "But I don't remember you particularly holding to this idea ten days ago."

"I picked it up somewhere."

"Hmm.  Well, anyway, I assumed _she_ was fine, since we're both here, after all."

"Right," McCoy said noncommittally.  "And she _is_ fine.  We survived without you.  Somehow."

Lowell completely missed the undertone to the statement.  "Fine, then.  So tell me, did we catch the pirates?"

McCoy looked away.  "Yeah.  We caught them."

"Good!  Nogura must be thrilled."

"Fairly.  Listen, I should get back to the ship…"

Lowell didn't have any particular objections.  "Sure, I understand.  Say, it's probably going to be rather boring down here, could you get someone to send down my book?"

"_War and Peace_?"

"That's the one."

"I'll see about it."  McCoy turned to go.

"Hey, Doctor," Lowell called, "one more question and I'll let you get back to the _Enterprise_."

McCoy paused by the door.  "What's that?"

"While I was out for ten days…did I miss anything important?"

McCoy looked over his shoulder at Lowell for a long moment.  His mind ran over all the events of the last ten days, all the things that could be said in response to that question.  And then, considering who he was talking to, and who he would be talking about, he realized there was really only one answer. 

"No," McCoy said quietly, "nothing important at all."

It was after that that things truly began to settle back into their normal ways.  As McCoy had predicted, Lowell made a full and rapid recovery.  Within three days of waking up he was back in his command chair as though he'd never left it.  And life went on.

The final results of the Sharks' trial took several months to decide, yet in the end were completely predictable: all the Sharks (excepting of course Harry) ended up in various penal colonies for varying lengths of time.  The _Enterprise_ crew provided valuable evidence at the trials, and nearly every Shark was wanted for past crimes anyway.  The name of their leader naturally came out during the trials, but, as predicted, by then James T. Kirk had reached hero stature in the public eye and was immune from hanging in the news.

The crew was a little subdued for a while, a little more thoughtful.  Several people requested transfers to other ships, ships that were farther from the center of things, that were out on the fringes where things happened.  For the most part though, people stayed where they were.  They looked at the stars a little differently, thought of dreams and ideas for a while, and then, gradually, came to a realization.  Life hadn't changed.  Their missions hadn't changed, their daily duties hadn't changed.  For a brief period they had been at the center of something truly exciting.  That wasn't the standard beforehand, and it wasn't the standard after, and they found themselves under an onslaught of normalcy.  Things seemed a bit flat for awhile, but then old habits filled in.  They retained a tendency to think just a little bit more on why they were out among the stars to begin with, but otherwise and in all practical respects, life as it had always been soon returned.

Not everything was quite the same, though.  Dr. McCoy was a bit more irritable than he used to be, and word was out that it was a bad idea to mention pirates of any sort to him.  Mr. Spock, in the midst of a disparaging thought about humans, sometimes had to stop and privately acknowledge to himself that some humans, at least, had their positive sides.

But aside from these few exceptions, life went on just as it always had.  Admiral Nogura soon informed them of their next mission.  Upon hearing that they were delivering grain to a colony world, Lowell beamed at his bridge crew and commented that it was nice to have things back to normal.  No one answered.  If anyone, particularly at the back of the bridge, at the navigator's station, or down in Sickbay, chanced to think a little wistfully of a man with flashing eyes and a cocky grin who probably would have been outraged by something as mundane as delivering grain, they didn't speak of it.

And life went on.  It wasn't glorious, but the people were nice, they did good work, shore leaves were frequent, and you couldn't beat the paycheck.

----

There is an epilogue.


	38. Epilogue

Disclaimer: After 37 times, I assume you can figure it out yourselves.

EPILOGUE

As was his custom, Mr. Spock entered the Mess Hall at precisely 6:20 in the evening, PADD tucked under his arm. He estimated an average-sized crowd, a slight rise from the previous evening.

He crossed the room, and stopped at the replicators. He ordered a green salad, no dressing, and whole-grain wheat bread. Then, carefully searching out an empty table at the back of the crowded room, he set down his tray of food, laid his PADD next to it, and sat down. He needed to catch up with his reading on the effects of various degrees of gravitational pressure on the growth of certain cultures of micro-bacteria.

Ten minutes later, give or take three minutes, Dr. McCoy realized it was high time he ate something. Leaving a stack of reports and a promise to straighten them out later with the nurse on duty, he strolled down to the Mess Hall. On arrival, he gave absolutely no thought to the size of the crowd. Wending through it he headed for the replicators, ordering fried chicken and potato salad. Then, tray in hand, he pondered where to sit.

Scotty was at one of the back tables, sunk deep in conversation with Lieutenant Kyle. McCoy went that direction. On his way, he passed Spock's table. It was a table for eight, and the Vulcan was sitting at it alone, reading something off of a PADD. McCoy didn't have to read any of it to be sure that it was complicated and obscure. He rolled his eyes, reflected that he really didn't understand Spock, and began to continue walking. But then something made him hesitate. Nothing in the room or even on the ship, but something far more intangible. Something in his memories prodded at him, and he didn't keep walking. He glanced at Spock again. He told himself that he would probably regret this. But, obeying a feeling, he did it anyway.

McCoy never got to Scotty's table that evening. Instead, he plunked his tray on the table and sat down across from Spock.

Spock looked up. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. If he was pleased, he didn't show that either. But his eyebrow wasn't up, and McCoy took that as a good sign.

McCoy picked up a piece of chicken. "So, Spock. How've you been?"

----

…And…I guess that's all, folks. Wow…I first thought this up eighteen months ago, I've been posting it for almost a year…it's gonna be weird not to be working on it anymore. Though I've already launched into other stories…[shameless plug] Will soon be posting the first chapter of a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ novel, I hope you'll check it out! Also have some other Star Trek stuff I expect to post some time soon…

Thank you so, so much for all your many, many reviews, analysis, suggestions, and just general feedback! This is the first serious novel I've ever tried to write and the longest thing I've ever finished (by a _lot_), and I couldn't have done it without you guys! I can't thank you enough for all your interest and support. So…thanks!

Live long and prosper,

Tavia


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